


Between Fences

by apastron (SnowGirl)



Series: Between Fences [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Horse Show AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-03 22:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11541399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowGirl/pseuds/apastron
Summary: Kent Parson knows who Jack Zimmermann is, of course. He knows that he’s showing in the same circuit as Kent, and he knows that his dad is going to be there too. But then again, everyone who shows knows who Jack is.or: the self-indulgent horse show au of my dreams





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jackie for betaing this and letting me bounce ideas off of her <3  
> This is my first fic in this fandom and it's for a pairing and an AU near and dear to my heart so hopefully y'all like it! I think I did a pretty good job explaining all of the horse stuff but let me know if there's something you're confused about!

Kent Parson knows who Jack Zimmermann is, of course. He knows that he’s showing in the same circuit as Kent, and he knows that his dad is going to be there too. But then again, everyone who shows knows who Jack is, even at the backyard 4H shows Kent’s grown up on. The girls at his barn used to gossip about him endlessly, although he could never quite tell if they had more of a crush on him or his horse. Knowing the girls at his barn, it was probably the horse. But that had been a long time ago, when he’d still been in 4H and not had his own horse and A-circuit shows like this one to look forward to. Kent sighs, smoothing a hand over Val’s neck and shoving his heels further down in his stirrups. He readjusts the reins and puts Jack Zimmerman out of his mind. Today, he’s just another face in the arena.

The show ring is so quiet that Kent can hear his own heartbeat thrumming in his ears. The crowd isn’t huge today; this is only the first day, after all, and this class is just an open, available to anyone. It’s only interesting to the spectators because of the prize money, miniscule as it is. Finally, the announcer starts talking, “And next up we have number 231, Kent Parson riding Valentine.” Kent grins at the judge as he walks Val into the ring. He tells himself again that he doesn’t care who he’s competing against, as long as Val stays steady and they have a clean round. “Let’s get it done girl,” he mutters under his breath, before starting his courtesy circle and pointing Val at the first jump.

They have a clean round, but because nothing is fair, so does Jack Zimmerman. They aren’t the only ones who go to the jump off, of course, but when Kent’s eyes meet Jack’s across the ring the other boy’s eyes are so blue that they’re scorching. Kent realizes with a sinking feeling that no matter who wins the class, the only thing that’s going to matter is which of them do better. He should be happy with a spot in the jump off, and he knows that this wasn’t a bad way to start the Ocala winter show circuit off. After all, he has eight weeks to prove that he deserves to be here. But Jack Zimmermann is on the other side of the fence on his six figure warmblood and Kent remembers just how young Val is compared to all the other horses here and the force of how much he wants this win hits him so hard that he flinches.

Underneath him, Val tosses her head and sidesteps, uneasy. Kent curses under his breath and breaks away from his weird staring contest with Jack, circling her and muttering platitudes under his breath. It won’t matter how much he wants to win if he can’t get Val to settle enough to jump with a clear head. For just a moment, he’s horribly jealous of Jack and his overpriced, registered gelding,  _ Knight Errant _ \- even his name is obnoxious - that is standing quietly, no curb rein to be seen and a crop dangling loosely in Jack’s hand. Kent sighs, rubs circles on Val’s neck. “C’mon girl,” he says, “just one more round and then you can be done.” Val stomps, once, but stops tossing her head and Kent smiles. They’ve got this.

They do well, have a clean round that’s just barely within the time constraint because Val tried to bow towards a different fence, costing them precious seconds. Jack wins, of course, leaving Kent with resentment burning low in his stomach and some part of him feeling dangerously off center. He smiles at Jack as he’s leaving the ring after ribbons are handed out, a peace offering even though he kind of wants to punch him and his stupid, expensive gelding, but Jack doesn’t smile back. Kent understands; there’s no friends in the show ring. But still, everyone else he’s talked to so far has been nice enough and they don’t all have a chip on their shoulder the way Jack does. He swings off of Val’s back, landing on the dirt heavily. It’s fine by him if Jack doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t need to make friends, either.

Kent hooks the red ribbon on Val’s bridle with a smile plastered on his face, thinking about how much better the blue would look against her white coat. “Kent!” A voice calls, and for half a second Kent thinks it might be Jack. He turns, only to find himself face to face with Bob Zimmermann, the face of eventing for the past twenty years and Jack’s father.

Whatever Kent had been expecting when he woke up this morning, this wasn’t it. Bob had retired years ago, sure, but he  _ was  _ eventing. There wasn’t a way to have a conversation about modern equestrians without bringing him up at least once. Kent swallows, his mouth gone suddenly dry. There’s nothing he can say to this man that he hasn’t heard a million times before, and the last thing he wants to do is talk about how good Jack beat him. But so much of this sport ends up hinging on who you know, so he smiles and extends a hand, “Mr. Zimmermann, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Bob Zimmermann laughs, open and unrestrained, nothing like his son. Kent feels himself warming up against his will, “Call me Bob, please. It helps me feel younger than I really am.”

Kent laughs too, happy to be included, “Alright then, Bob.”

“You had a nice ride out there, son.” Bob says, reaching out and patting Val’s shoulder, “You look good on her.”

“Thank you sir,” Kent says, tightening his grip on her reins. It’s stupid of him to be possessive, a leftover remnant from his first lesson barn. It’s one of the few things from 4H he still carries with him: the lingering feeling that no matter how much he loves something, it’s never really going to be his.

“Papa!” Jack calls, leading his Dutch Warmblood over and stopping a few feet from the two of them.

“Ah, sorry,” Bob says, “I was just saying hello to Kent. It’s his first time here, after all.”

Kent’s stomach twists. He’s just been being nice; he wouldn’t have signaled Kent out if he’d been anyone else who’d lost to his son.

Jack nods, looking like he’s just been punched in the gut, “Nice to meet you.”

Yeah, right. Kent smiles, “You too.” The silence stretches, settling around them tacky and uncomfortable. Kent traces circles on Val’s neck with his fingernails. She adjusts her weight, leaning into his hand, and he feels even worse than he had a moment ago for wishing for a different horse. She’d done the best she could, and it was only the first class. He looks up at Bob again, “Well, I’ve got to take her back before she gets antsy,” he says, “So, uh, I’ll see you around. It was good to meet you, Bob.”

“You too, son.” Bob says.

Jack doesn’t reply, and Kent is furious at himself for wishing he did. “C’mon Val,” he mutters, leading her down the bluestone path back to the barn and falling into step beside his trainer for their post class debriefing. If he has even more trouble focusing than usual and looks behind him to see Jack Zimmermann talking quietly to his father, blue ribbon glinting on his bay’s bridle, well, no one has to know.

-

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Kent heads back to one of the barns and helps the grooms clean stalls, then watches a couple of the younger kids ride in their hunter classes before heading back to the side barn where Val’s boarded to help feed. He could have competed in the Level 5 jumper class, probably should have, but it’s their first day and Val always has trouble settling into new barns. Instead, he skips a party and goes to bed early, tells himself that if he wants to do better than second he’ll have to step up his game.

So the next morning, Kent drags himself out of bed at the crack of dawn to drive to the arena and tack up Val so they can have a quiet ride in one of the practice rings. Kent sighs and pats Val’s neck as he mounts up. He hasn’t even had a cup of coffee yet and is exhausted beyond belief, but he has to school and he needs the extra room to work on transitions so he has a shot at getting Val to keep her head between fences. “Let’s get this done girl,” he says. “Then we can both get a little more sleep.” 

He rolls his shoulders back and turns Val down the long rail, urging her into a trot and warming her up in lazy circles around the ring. Kent grins: she’s being good, better than he’d thought she would be. The sun is still low in the sky, and the showgrounds are quiet except for workers and staff scuttling around quietly. One of the schooling supervisors nods at him, and he nods back. In the trees at the far edge of the ring, Kent can hear birds chirping, and beyond them the faint, reassuring sound of route 27. This is always the best part of riding, when everything clicks and a ride is just  _ fun _ . Val steps into the canter like a dream, and he lets her run for a moment before sitting up and asking for a halt. She flips her head, her tail thrashing unhappily, but halts, breaking into a trot for a moment before finally stopping. Kent scowls, his perfect ride crashing down around him: that had been even messier than the last time they’d practiced it.

“If you didn’t overextend your elbows she wouldn’t run through your hands like that,” a voice says.

Kent looks up, expecting a member of the staff but instead locking eyes with Jack Zimmermann, standing outside the ring with his horse fully tacked up and watching Kent. “What are you, my trainer?” Kent snaps. “I don’t tell you how to ride your horse, do I?”

An expression flits across Jack’s face before Kent can figure out what it is, “I was only trying to help,” he says.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Kent mutters, pushing Val forward into a walk.

There’s a pause, a moment when Kent doesn’t think Jack’ll say anything back. He’s trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care when Jack finally speaks, “You uh- you have nice hands.” Kent doesn’t look up, just halts Val and backs her a few steps before continuing to walk. “Your hands don’t get tight, even when she’s not listening to you. It’s uh,” Jack pauses, “it’s nice to watch.”

Kent’s stomach flips and he looks over his shoulder, flashing his best grin, the crooked one that his sister says makes him look like an asshole but he thinks makes him look hot, “Jealous?”

Jack smiles a wisp of a smile, really a suggestion of one more than anything else, and puts his helmet on, leading his bay over to the gate. “Nah, my horse stops when I want him to.” he unlatches the gate, “Normally I have the ring to myself at this time of day.”

Val tosses her head again and Kent smooths a hand down her neck. “Me too,” he replies. He hates the early mornings more than anything, would much rather still be asleep, but it’s the only part of the day where he can get in a decent ride without dodging and weaving around other riders the whole time. Besides, he’s not going to let Jack scare him out of finishing his ride. “Guess we’ll both just have to cope.”

Neither of them say anything to each other the rest of the ride, but the silence feels less like it’s crackling between them and more like an armistice.

-

Kent isn’t quite sure what he expects from Jack after their first ride together. Maybe that the next day Jack won’t look at him in the show ring like he wants to carve him up for slaughter. But no, things continue as normal. They bounce around top placings in classes, and Kent tells himself that he’ll have plenty of time to cajole Jack into being friends with him, almost eight weeks left of Ocala’s winter show circuit. He doesn’t know why it matters so much to him, why he cares if Jack Zimmermann and his warmblood like him or not.

They still don’t talk other than the occasional nod between classes, so Kent is probably making something out of nothing - it’s not like it would be the first time that’s happened. Except that Kent has started dragging himself out of bed before dawn every day so that he can ride with Jack, and that Jack has never missed a morning either. They don’t talk in the ring, but sometimes Jack will grab a whiteboard before they tack up and they’ll design a course out of the jumps already set up in the ring.

But all of that can be excused: plausible deniability from the scene of the crime. If someone were to come in and critically examine their friendship, leave no stone unturned, they wouldn’t find much of anything. Kent doesn’t know why it bothers him. After another routine ride, he swings off of Val, his feet hitting the sand with a soft thump. He runs his stirrups up without looking to see what Jack is doing and closes his fist tight around Val’s reins. Normally Jack leaves the ring first, but today he’s standing in front of him, his horse’s reins looped around his arm.

“Uh, what’s her name?” Jack asks, “Her barn name, I mean.”

“Val,” Kent says, and right on cue she flexes her neck and shoves him in the chest. He laughs and knocks his elbow against her shoulder, the interaction feeling practiced and easy in a way most things rarely do. “What about your guy? Or do you go around calling him ‘Knight Errant’ all the time?”

“Knightly,” Jack says, tracing circles on the gelding’s neck.

Kent nods and scratches at the bone under Val’s eye. “Don’t you have other horses too? How come I never see you on them?”

Jack shrugs, “Knightly’s who I mainly ride. Trix and Pascal are great, but it’s not the same. I don’t know them as well.”

Kent nods, pretends like he understands and is able to emphasize with having multiple horses at a show, “Good ride today, yeah?”

Jack nods jerkily, his face drained of color and his eyes focused on a point over Kent’s shoulder. He can’t decide if Jack has always looked this pale or if it’s just in this moment, a lingering effect of the early morning. Even if they were close enough for him to ask, there’s no good way to phrase the question. Kent has never been as brave as he thought he was anyways, so he just smiles without it reaching his eyes and tugs Val forward, “See you later Jack.”

“Wait!” Jack says, his hand flying out and catching at Kent’s wrist. “Do you want to get breakfast after we put them away? I’m sick of hotel food.”

Kent’s stomach flips, and he should say no, should let himself fall back into the narrative that they aren’t friends. He should lead Val away and put Jack and his horse that cost at least four times what his did out of his mind. But then again, Jack’s eyes had looked so empty only a moment before, and he still looks pale and unsteady on his feet. Behind them, the sun is finally starting to crest above the trees, silhouetting him and his horse in a golden strip of light that shines through the open doors to the indoor ring. Kent stands outside of the line of gold, stuck in the shadow of the still lingering night, and maybe that’s part of the reason why he shrugs and says, “Bet I finish untacking before you.”

It might just be the morning sun, but Kent thinks he sees the ghost of a smile on Jack’s face and something settles, low and warm in his chest. The feeling doesn’t leave him as he puts Val away, and it doesn’t leave him when he meets Jack in the parking lot, only a handful of cars there. They’ve never done this before, and that’s probably why it’s so awkward. It doesn’t have anything to do with the off-kilter feeling in Kent’s chest or the way Jack’s face still looks just a shade too pale.

“I can drive,” Kent offers, jerking his head towards his pickup.

Jack nods, and they still aren’t friends, even when Kent drives them to the nearest diner and they spend far, far too long lingering over pancakes and coffee.

-

The next day, breakfast folds easily into their routine as well, so pre-packaged and perfect of a morning that Kent forgets the first few days of Ocala when he didn’t have it. He doesn’t need to be friends with Jack Zimmerman, and Jack certainly doesn’t need to be friends with him, but it might be nice. He’s pretty sure neither of them mean for it to happen, but they fall together so quickly that it seems like the most natural thing in the world for them to start walking to and from classes together, and the first week of the show circuit passes.

They’re walking back from the ring after the grand prix and Kent is soaring; he beat  _ Jack _ , he got  _ second _ , he just made five thousand and five hundred dollars, for God’s sake! His excitement is rubbing off on Val, who’s tossing her legs out in front of her even more than she normally does and she needs a bath before he puts her away but his head's still spinning from the win and nothing else matters, not right then.

At his side, Jack is quiet and withdrawn, even though he placed third on Knightly and fifth on Trix which is amazing, really. Kent would have been happy with third, although his blood is still singing from the ribbon on Val’s bridle. “It’s a long show season,” he says to Jack, and he probably sounds like a bit of a dick but he feels so good that he doesn’t care, “besides, sometimes you just don’t have great rides. You beat me in the mini prix, anyways. It’s my turn to win, isn’t it?”

Jack’s mouth is a hard line against his face, and his shoulders are tight and he isn’t looking at Kent, “It was a lucky ride Kent. Val normally doesn’t jump like that and we both know it.”

He was right, but there were a dozen different ways that he could have said it better. Kent’s lip curls, acid dripping from his words, “Oh, so I’m not allowed to be excited now? You didn’t win so I have to mope to make you feel better?”

Jack flinches and ducks his head down, leading Knightly along a little faster. They walk the rest of the way to the barn in a tense silence, and Jack hands Knightly off to his groom, who smiles at Kent and takes Val as well. Normally he wouldn’t let her, but Kent is still buzzing from the win and he can let himself be that guy for one night, can’t he? As they’re leaving the barn, he glances over at Jack and feels that same sinking feeling in his stomach from the first time they’d been in the same class.

Kent stops, scuffing at the dirt with his shoe. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Jack, not really. “God, it’s so hot here,” he says. “Will you judge me if I wash my hair in the wash stall before dinner?”

Normally Jack would have laughed, or at least made some joke about how they have perfectly nice hotel rooms, but he just shrugs and looks away, “Do what you want.”

A breeze blows through the showgrounds, making Kent’s unkempt hair look even worse.  In the silence, he takes in Jack’s dull eyes and the tight line of his shoulders that still hasn’t gone away. “You good?”

Jack nods, mechanical, and Kent regrets talking about his win so much. He can’t imagine a universe in which he knows the right words to apologize to Jack. “You want to get out of here?” Kent asks, instead. “There’s a burger place not that far from here.” Jack shrugs and doesn’t make eye contact with Kent, staring at a spot on the ground. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Kent says, softer, “Jack?”

Jack looks up, but his eyes skate around the showgrounds, focusing on anything but Kent, “Yeah, burgers sound good. Just let me grab my bag from the barn.” He disappears into one of the stalls and comes back a few minutes later, putting his water bottle away in his drawstring bag as he walks. “Let’s go,” he says, and Kent smiles at him, but he still can’t shake the way he felt before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent’s skyping his mom when Jack comes into the hotel room. He doesn’t say anything, just sprawls out next to Kent and opens his book, some nonfiction piece about World War I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here's chapter two! thanks again to Jackie for betaing and thanks to everyone who read and/or left kudos last time! just a minor trigger warning - Jack does have a panic attack in this chapter, but it's not a long scene at all

Kent’s skyping his mom when Jack comes into the hotel room. He doesn’t say anything, just sprawls out next to Kent and opens his book, some nonfiction piece about World War I.

  
“Kent?” His mom says, “Honey, did someone just come in? Is that Deborah? Can I talk to her?”

  
“No, mom. It’s just my friend Jack.”

  
At his name, Jack looks up from his book, “Uh, hi Ms. Parson.”

  
On screen, his mom laughs, “Oh, _this_ is Jack.” She puts emphasis on the sentence, smiling like she knows something Kent doesn’t. “I’m so glad you’ve managed to make a friend honey! I worry about you being alone with your trainer all the time, as amazing as Deborah is.”

  
Kent’s suddenly desperate to get off the call in a way he hadn’t been earlier, “Yeah, okay mom. I’ll call you again tomorrow, yeah? You get off work at ten, right?”

  
She laughs again, the sound fuzzy through the shitty speakers on his laptop and he feels a sudden rush of affection for her. “Sure thing. Love you Kenny.”

  
He smiles, “Love you too mom.”

 

Jack lowers his book once he hangs up the call, “Kenny?”

 

He shrugs, picking at a callous on his palm from barn work, “It’s what my mom’s always called me.”

  
Jack chuckles and picks up his book again, “It’s nice. I like it. There aren’t any good nicknames for Jack.”

  
The hotel room feels soft, hushed. Kent doesn’t know what Jack’s doing here, or what he wants from him. He told his mom they were friends, but he doesn’t know if that’s the right word. It’s too general, for them. Jack’s the only person he really talks to other than his trainer most days, and when Jack’s not in a class with him he feels out of place. It should bother him, probably. “We’re friends, right?” He says, his insecurity rising up out of nowhere.

  
Jack doesn’t look up, just laughs, “Of course.”

  
Kent’s chest feels looser, and he flops back down next to Jack, “Cool. Wanna watch a movie or something? I’ve got my trainer’s Netflix password.”

  
Jack puts his bookmark back in its place and turns his head to smile at Kent, “Yeah, sure thing Kenny.”

  
-

  
The second competition of the circuit starts, and everything unfolds just as it had before. Kent and Jack ride together in the mornings, then go out to breakfast somewhere or head back to the Zimmerman’s and make something together. They plot out jump courses on napkins at crappy diners, and Kent starts to associate coffee with Jack’s half-smile and helmet hair.

  
The show circuit continues, and the old animosity between them flickers to life sometimes during jump offs, but the mornings are safe. Serene. Kent adjusts his grip on the reins and refocuses back on his ride. He’s not having the greatest ride, but it’s probably just because he can’t focus.

  
“You good Kent?” Jack calls from across the ring. “You look like you zoned out for a second there.”

  
“I’m good Jack. Focus on your own ride, yeah?” Kent knows Jack is just trying to help, but he hates it when he does this, when he treats Kent like some amateur who doesn’t know a bay from a chestnut.

  
Jack doesn’t respond and Kent eases Val into a canter, putting her on a circle when she doesn’t check her speed. His back feels tight, and he knows he’s hollowing it weird and it’s making it harder for her to come up into his hands, but he can’t for the life of him get himself to stop. After a few laps around the circle, he brings her back to a trot, trying to soften his back.

  
“You need to extend your lower back,” Jack says. “You’re hollowing it too much and creating resistance where there shouldn’t be any.”

  
Kent’s jaw tightens and he bites the inside of his cheek. Jack’s his friend. He doesn’t want to snap at him. “I know Jack,” he says, as evenly as possible.

  
Jack continues on, like he hadn’t even heard Kent, “You need to adjust your leg position, I think. You’re bracing and it’s making your whole seat off.”

  
“Jesus, Jack!” Kent snaps, turning Val so he can look right at him, “I know! I know I’m sitting weird, and I know how to fix it! I’m just having an off day, god.”

  
“I was just trying to help,” Jack says, softly.

  
“I didn’t ask for your help!” Kent says, and he’s probably being too hard on Jack but it makes him feel like he’s that little kid at 4H again and not someone who’s just as good a rider as Jack. “You’re supposed to be my friend, not my trainer! I don’t tell you how to ride your horse, do I? If I wanted your opinion, I would ask for it! I’m not some, some pity project for you to use to make yourself feel better about yourself!” And then, because he can’t ever stop before he fucks everything up, Kent’s mouth keeps moving, “What, are you only able to live with yourself when I beat you if you think you can take the credit?” His lip curls, “It’s not always about you, Jack.”

  
Jack’s face looks terribly, terribly blank, like someone’s washed out every single emotion and left nothing behind. “Is that what you think of me?” he asks, so softly that Kent’s not sure he was supposed to hear. He laughs, the sound hollow and empty in the otherwise silent arena, then dismounts and leads Knightly out, “Fine, Parson. If you want it so badly, then you can have the ring to yourself. Clearly you prefer things that way.”

  
The gate clangs shut behind Jack, leaving Kent and Val alone. “Val, I think I might’ve fucked things up,” he says.

  
Days pass, and they don’t talk about the fight. They still walk to classes together but Kent doesn’t make eye contact with Jack when they’re warming up, just keeps his head straight and tries his best to push Jack and Knightly out of his head. They still ride together in the morning, but breakfast afterwards is a tense and strained affair. It feels like a habit now, where it used to be one of the best parts of Kent’s days. It just feels like they’re going through the motions of being friends.

  
It’s all making him ride like shit too, which is the worst part of it. He’s tense through his shoulders and his back, and it’s making Val anxious. It reaches a breaking point when he’s schooling with Deborah one morning and Val runs out from a jump, something she hasn’t done in ages.

 

“Kent Parson!” Deborah shouts, storming over and grabbing Val’s reins to halt her. “What the hell are you doing?”

  
Kent shrugs and looks down at his hands, “Sorry.”

  
Deborah scoffs, “Sorry? You should be apologizing to your horse, not to me. That was your fault and you know it. She ran out because she didn’t feel safe, and she didn’t think you had her. That’s the number one thing with this horse Kent, and you know it! She has to trust you, and she didn’t on the way to that fence.”

  
Kent still doesn’t look at her, “I know. Sorry Val.” He runs a hand down her neck and Val stomps one of her hooves and flicks her tail.

  
“You’re a good rider, but if you keep doing shit like this she’s not going to trust you anymore.” Deborah releases his reins, “You put a lot of work into this horse kid. Don’t let it be for nothing.”

  
Kent nods, his throat feeling tight. Every time he lets Deborah down he feels like his insides have just been scraped raw. “Sorry Val,” he whispers again. He asks her to walk on, but she sidesteps, unsure beneath him. His heart sinks. What has he been doing? Jack isn’t worth losing his horse over. Val backs up, tossing her head. He hadn’t realized how upset she was; this is all his fault. He should have been paying attention.

  
The two of them haven’t had this problem in almost a year. The schooling ring isn’t very full, so none of the other riders have noticed yet, but they will soon if he doesn’t get Val under control. Kent exhales, dropping her reins almost completely and urging her forward. She pauses, then lunges forward. She doesn’t rear, but there’s a horrible second where Kent’s stomach drops and all the oxygen leaves his body. When he first got Val and she would rear, it would send him into a panic, leaving him more upset than anything else she could ever do. He throws all his weight forward onto her neck and she stops. Val’s trembling very slightly, and Kent hates himself with a sudden, sickening feeling. All of the reasons she’s upset right now are his fault.

  
He looks up at Deborah, and he isn’t crying but he kind of wants to be. Kent’s pretty sure that both him and Val are shaking, now. “Can we be done for the day?” he asks, and his voice comes out wrong, strained and upset even though nothing actually happened. Kent wonders if he’ll ever stop being a little afraid of Val. “I know that’s an awful note to end on but she’s starting to freak out and I don’t want to make it any worse. I’ll put her in a halter and do some groundwork, but we’re not gonna get anywhere after this.”

  
Deborah purses her lips, “We’re doing this same course tomorrow. And I expect you to do better.”

  
He nods, “Of course. I’ll work out what’s bothering me tonight, I promise.”

  
“Good,” she says, then turns and walks out of the ring.

  
Kent slides off of Valentine, leading her out of the ring and back to her stall. He doesn’t do any groundwork like he promised, just takes off her tack and rests his head against her shoulder. They’ve both stopped trembling, and she makes a soft noise and nudges him with her nose. Kent scratches at her withers. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, over and over until it feels like they’re the only words he knows how to say.

Working out what’s bothering him means talking to Jack, which he really has no desire to do. He misses him, but some part of him would rather just let their fight fester between them until enough time passes that they forget about it or they stop being friends altogether. He closes the door to Val’s stall, leaving her a little extra hay as an apology. The fight is making him a worse rider, and it’s hurting Val, so he has to work through it. She’s more important than anything else.

  
Kent sighs and heads over to Knightly’s stall, which is empty. Good. That means he has time to figure out what the fuck he evens wants to say. He should apologize, probably.

  
Kent hears hoofbeats and looks up to see Knightly’s groom, Bryn, walking towards him with the warmblood in tow. Beyond her, he can see Jack, leaving the barn.

  
“Wait!” Kent calls, “Jack, can we talk?”

  
Jack stops and turns around, “Uh, sure.”

  
Kent nods and walks up to him, fiddling with the zipper of the pocket on his breeches. “Cool. Wanna go sit in front of Val’s stall or something? It’ll be quieter over there.”

  
Jack looks tense, Kent notices. Good. If Jack feels even half as miserable as Kent does, they should be back to being friends in no time. “We could go sit in the feed room.”

  
“The feed room?”

  
Jack shrugs, “It’s quiet there. And it’s the middle of the day. No one’s gonna be feeding anytime soon, and this way we won’t have to see anyone else.”

  
Kent nods, “Yeah, alright.”

  
They walk into the feed room and Jack leans up against the wall, his eyes fixed on the floor. Kent doesn’t look at him, just paces back and forth in front of him.

  
“Look,” he says, “I need to say something. I don’t -”

  
“I get it,” Jack says. “You don’t want to be friends anymore. It’s too much work.”

  
Whatever narrative Kent has built up about the two of them goes crashing down instantly. “What?” He asks, “No. I- do you not want to be friends anymore?” He stops pacing and looks at Jack, who finally looks at Kent.

  
Jack doesn’t say anything.

  
Kent swallows, “Zimms, I was just gonna say that I don’t want to fight anymore. It was stupid. I miss you.”

  
An unfamiliar expression is caught on Jack’s face, “Zimms?”

  
Kent shrugs, picking at the thread on one of the unopened bags of grain. “There’s no good nicknames for Jack. It felt right.”

  
Jack doesn’t smile, but his mouth twitches like he’s thinking about it, “I missed you too.”

  
Kent exhales, “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  
“I shouldn’t have gotten defensive,” Jack says. “I forget you don’t expect anything from me sometimes.”

  
And that’s not true, Kent knows it isn’t. He expects things from Jack, plenty of things. Maybe they’re just different from whatever Jack’s used to. “You were only trying to help,” he says.

  
“Yeah,” Jack replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I shouldn’t have pushed you. You’re right. I’m not your trainer.”

  
Kent smiles, “Nah, you’re my friend.”

  
-

  
Jack’s parents have a party and all the elites of the equestrian world are invited to stand around in cocktail dresses and suits and sip wine and talk about their expensive horses and the projects they’re training and the clinics they’re hosting. Kent goes because Jack asks him to and he can’t shake his morbid curiosity about how the best of the best pass their time between shows. After all, it wasn’t like he’d ever been invited to anything like this before. Most of the people there probably didn’t know his name before this season.

  
One of the older women, Alyssa, is a little drunk and is telling him about how she’s been watching his classes. She’s just rambling, really, about his horse and how his trainer is doing good work and then she asks if Kent would be willing to sell Valentine and Kent’s throat closes up.

  
“What?”

  
Alyssa sways slightly and puts a hand on his shoulder. It feels heavy, like deadweight. “Your horse,” she says. “Valentine. How much for her? Name your price kid.”

  
In the back of his head a small voice says that everything has a price. He coughs and takes a sip of his water to buy himself time to respond, “Uh, she’s not for sale.”

  
She sighs heavily and drops her hand, finishing her wine, “Are you sure? You could buy yourself something that’s a little less… unorthodox. Hell, I have some jumpers you could borrow.” She reaches a hand into her purse, “Here, let me give you a business card.”

  
There are no words for how badly Kent doesn’t want a business card. He can’t believe she just called Val unorthodox, which is what announcers say when they think a horse isn’t good enough for jumpers. It’s the sort of thing you would never say to someone’s face. He swallows and is about to respond when Jack appears, slinging an arm around Kent’s shoulders and listing into his side. “Hi Ms. Alyssa,” he says. “Is Kenny bothering you?”

  
Kent has never been so grateful for Jack before and he leans into the touch without thinking, pressing himself more firmly against his side. Jack’s arm around him feels like the polar opposite of the way Alyssa’s on his shoulder had felt, warm and safe instead of cloying and heavy.

  
Alyssa laughs, “No, no, just the opposite in fact. I’ll let you boys catch up. I should really go find your mother anyways, Jack.” She tips her glass of wine at Kent before walking away and calling over her shoulder, “Don’t you forget what we talked about kiddo.”

  
Kent expects Jack’s arm around him to vanish as soon as Alyssa disappears, but it doesn’t budge. Kent feels himself relax even more. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

  
“Sure,” Jack says. “What was she asking you about anyways?”

  
Kent feels himself tense up and he shakes his head, “I’ll tell you later Zimms.”

  
He expects Jack to push it - Kent would’ve pushed it, but instead he just nods, “Here, follow me,” he says, guiding Kent inside and away from the party.

  
Jack leads Kent upstairs, where the house is dark and unoccupied. He keeps his arm around Kent until they’re at the top of the stairs, and Kent misses its warmth as soon as it’s gone. “I hate these things,” Jack says. “My parents have them all the time and I’m always miserable at them. Normally I just sneak off as soon as I can.”

  
“Yeah?” Kent asks, stopping to look at the photographs hung in the hallway. He knows this isn’t the Zimmerman’s main house, that they’re only down here for a couple of months each year, but there are still family portraits and pictures of Bob and Jack competing and some of Alicia’s old modeling shots. It’s more personal than he would’ve expected for a house they have only for the show circuit, but then again this is a legacy sport. Bob used to compete at Ocala and Jack does now and if Jack ever has kids they’ll end up here too.

  
“Yeah,” Jack says. He closes his hand around Kent’s wrist and pulls him down the hallway, away from the photographs, “C’mon, Kenny.”  
“Where are we going?” Kent asks, although he doesn’t much care if it means he gets to see Jack this gentle and carefree.

  
Jack doesn’t reply, just leads him into a bedroom and pops open a window. He climbs up onto the windowsill effortlessly, then ducks through onto the roof. Kent follows him without a word, and Jack closes the window behind them.

  
“This is my favorite thing about this house,” Jack says, laying down.

  
Kent lays down next to him, the shingles digging into his back even through his dress shirt, and stares up at the stars. He can still hear the party below him, but the music is soft and the voices mingle into one sound. “I can see why,” he says.

  
Jack grunts, “I’ve never brought anyone else up here before, you know.”

  
The warmth that spreads through Kent is probably just him reading too much into the conversation, but his heartbeat still speeds up and a smile spreads across his face. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing but hopefully Jack is looking at the stars and not at him. They don’t say anything for a few minutes, just let the silence settle over them. Kent feels secure, like nothing could go wrong up here, so he rolls his head to the side to look at Jack.

  
“Tell me something about you,” he says. “Something I don’t know.”

  
Jack doesn’t reply, and Kent’s overstepped, hasn’t he? He contemplates getting up and leaving Jack alone to the stars. Jack clears his throat. “I have anxiety,” he says, quieter than Kent has ever heard him speak.

  
Kent closes his eyes and thinks about being brave enough to reach over and take Jack’s hand, “Okay.”

  
“I’m on medicine for it,” Jack says, the words rushing out of him. It occurs to Kent that Jack might not have told anyone else this before. “I have to take them before classes and sometimes before lessons and sometimes I just need them to get through the day.” Jack stops talking, pushing himself up until he’s sitting, his back to Kent.

  
Kent sits up too, knocking his arm against Jack’s. He wonders if Jack took his meds before the party or if he hadn’t and that’s why they’re up here. “Okay,” he says again, because there doesn’t seem to be much to say and Kent’s never been good with words, anyways. “Thanks for telling me.”

  
Jack looks over at Kent. “I used to have panic attacks before shows when I was younger,” he says. “My mom wanted me to stop riding competitively, but I wouldn’t let her. I-I couldn’t. I don’t know who I am without this.”

  
There’s never been a time where Kent hasn’t wanted to show competitively. He likes to win, likes the prize money and the cheers and the claps on the back from his trainer. But before Ocala, it’s never consumed him. He doesn’t understand what Jack means, but he thinks he’s starting to. “Yeah,” he says. Jack doesn’t respond and Kent’s hands twitch. “My mom hates Val,” he says, after a moment.

  
“Really?” Jack asks, smiling a little.

  
Kent laughs, “Yeah. I get it. She was a monster when I first got her. She was mean, and would kick at you if you were in the stall with her. She bucked when she didn’t want to be ridden, and she reared when she was upset. She scared the shit out of me.” Jack chuckles and Kent glances over at him, barely illuminated by the lights from the party below. He still looks anxious, closed off from Kent but there’s a trace of a smile on his face and his full attention is on Kent, so he keeps talking.

  
“But god, my mom was terrified of her. She couldn’t watch me ride her, always thought I was gonna get hurt. A couple months pass, and Val was still a jerk, but we were getting better, so I finally talked her into coming down to the barn with me one day.” Kent spreads his hands, smiling ruefully, “It was one of the worst rides I’ve ever had. I fell off twice and we barely got through our flatwork for the day. Afterwards, my mom pulled me aside and told me that that was it, that I needed to sell Val.” Jack makes a soft noise of sympathy and it makes Kent’s chest ache.

  
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so mad at her,” Kent says. “I cried and cried and cried, and she finally caved and let me keep her, but she’s still never liked her. She probably never will.” Kent doesn’t say that he hadn’t known he loved Val until that instant, when he thought she was going to be ripped away from him. “That’s sort of what Alyssa was talking to me about, actually,” he says. “She wanted to know if I’d sell her.”

  
“And?” Jack asks.

  
Kent shakes his head, “I don’t know who I am without her. I could never sell her, not in a million years.”

  
“Yeah,” Jack says. “But I didn’t know she used to rear. You can’t tell.”

  
Kent raises his eyebrows, “Yeah. She used to do it all the time. She still will if she’s really, really upset but I know her well enough now to fix it before it gets to that point.” He doesn’t mention that it almost happened the other day, when they were fighting.

  
“How long have you had her?”

  
“Like three years?” Kent says, “I got her right before I turned fifteen. We’ve both come a long way from then.” He pauses, and then thinks that since Jack is already asking him questions he figures it’s only fair if he gets to ask one in return, “How long have you been on anxiety meds?”

  
Jack chuckles, “About three years.”

  
Kent forgets how different they are sometimes, “God,” he says. “We never would have been friends if not for that morning, huh?”

  
“I guess not,” Jack says softly, then inches closer to Kent and presses their shoulders together.

  
-

  
The next time they’re in the show ring together, everything feels different. They know each other now, beyond who they are when they ride together. Kent has a messy ride and doesn’t get through to the jump off but Jack does and he gets to watch Jack come in first. Two weeks ago he would’ve been pissed off and moody but now he just waits for Jack with Bob and he looks at the blue ribbon on Knightly’s bridle and doesn’t feel a twinge of jealousy.

  
In retrospect, he should have realized he had feelings for Jack a long time ago. Kent waits for Jack to finish breaking down his ride with his trainer and his dad, then walks back to the barn with him. To his surprise, Knightly’s groom, Bryn, isn’t there and Jack starts putting Knightly away himself.

  
Jack frowns, “I need to redo a couple of his braids after I hose him down. He’s always trying to rub them out overnight.”

  
Kent scratches Knightly’s face, “Doesn’t a guy like you have grooms to do that for him?”

  
“I don’t mind,” Jack says, “it calms me down. Besides, Bryn took the day off.”

  
Right. Of course Jack likes doing braids. “I could help you,” he says. “If you want.” Help him? What was he thinking? Kent hates braiding, had hated it since he first learned it in a braiding workshop back in 4H. Every time he does them before shows he feels like he’s back there, watching one of the older girls explain how to do a button braid in the half hour left before they had to get out of the fairgrounds.

  
Jack pulls Knightly’s saddle off and smiles at Kent. Who is he kidding? Kent would do a million show braids for that smile. God, he’s so screwed. “Yeah?”

  
“Yeah,” Kent says, lying through his teeth, “I don’t mind braiding, especially if I’ve got company.” He smiles back at Jack, tentatively.  
Knightly shoves his face into Jack’s side and Jack shifts to rub his neck. “Well, if you don’t mind.”

  
Somehow, show braids with Jack are worse than normal show braids. In addition to trying not to rub his fingers too raw, Kent is so, so close to Jack. Their elbows keep knocking together and their hands are always a second away from brushing and Kent feels like he’s going to burst into flames at any second.

  
“You’re good at that,” Jack says, hooking his chin over Kent’s shoulder as Kent polishes off another perfectly uniform show braid. Of course he’s fucking good at it; the other girls at the barn have been paying him to do their braids for them for years. He freezes after he finishes tying the rubber band, trying not to act like he’s hyperaware of the face that Jack’s chin is on his shoulder.

 

Kent swallows and reaches for the next chunk of mane, “Yeah, well, you can’t be perfect at everything, Zimms.”

  
Jack laughs, so quietly Kent almost misses it, and strokes Knightly’s neck. “Your flying changes are still shit, Kenny.”

  
Kent’s heart surges, some kind of muscle memory, “At least my horse doesn’t rub out her braids.”

  
Jack laughs again, low and quiet and Kent would do anything for that laugh, would rip his heart out of his chest and hand it over if it would keep Jack soft and at ease like this.

  
-

  
As the days pass, it becomes easier. Kent doesn’t let his touches linger, doesn’t check out how good Jack’s ass looks in his breeches and he doesn’t think about what it would be like to kiss Jack after one of their morning rides or at breakfast or during one of the times when they’re hanging out at Jack’s house or Kent’s hotel room.

  
By which he means he’s spectacularly bad at not doing any of those things.

  
Kent shakes his head and stabs the knife into the bag of sawdust, ripping it open. He feels angry in a way he can’t quite place, his head pounding and his blood pumping with adrenaline that just won’t go away. He upends the bag, grabbing a pitchfork and raking it furiously over the stall. Outside her stall, Val stomps her hoof impatiently; she’s always hated cross ties. “Just one second baby!” He calls over his shoulder, although there’s no way he’s going to be done soon. He’s been out at the barn all morning, getting stalls ready for all of Deborah’s other students before the Winter Festival. Val’s the last horse he has to do, but he still has to refill her water and get her hay, and he needs to go get another bag of sawdust from the trailer, which is a ten minute walk away because no one had thought to unload all of the sawdust delivery for their barn this morning and it’s his fault for not helping them.

  
“Kent?”

  
Jack fucking Zimmermann, of course. “What do you want?” Kent snaps. He knows he’s being antagonistic for no reason, that Jack’s his friend, his best friend, but he feels something boiling under his skin and he isn’t in the mood to be looked down upon for getting his own horse’s stall ready.

  
Jack had been smiling before he’d snapped at him, probably. Now he’s just scowling at Kent the same way he does every time they’re in the show ring together. “Nothing,” he says, “a bunch of the girls are heading to the hotel for a party. Was just seeing if you were going.”

  
Kent really hates this sport sometimes. “Nah, I’ve gotta finish up here.” Kent smiles, but it doesn’t feel casual.

  
There’s a lot that can be said about Jack Zimmermann. His eyes are blue and his horse always has perfect striding, and he has soft hands and a perfect seat and, apparently, sometimes he knows when to shut the hell up. “Do you want help?” Jack asks, “I can do hay and water.”

  
“Sure,” Kent says, trying to sound dismissive, like it doesn’t matter what Jack did. He goes back to spreading sawdust around the stall, biting at his cheek to keep the smile from growing across his face.

  
After they finish, Jack doesn’t bring up the party again. Kent strokes Val’s nose through the stall, relieved to see that her braids were still intact. He knows that he’s lucky to own what’s probably the only white horse who hates getting dirty. “Thanks,” he says, leaning his head against the bars of the stall and pointedly not looking at Jack. He doesn’t want his pity.

  
“Yeah, anytime.” Jack says, “So you uh, do this all the time?”

  
Something like bile rises up in Kent’s throat and he tightens his hand into a fist, “We can’t all afford grooms to do our work for us.”

  
“Yeah,” Jack says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t think of it.”

  
It’s not an apology, but there isn’t really anything for Jack to feel sorry for. Kent still feels some alien emotion running through his veins though, and so the only thing to do is to whirl around and grit his teeth, “Why do you think Val’s so much younger than all the fancy warmbloods? Not everyone can afford a three figure horse, Zimmermann.” It feels good, for the split second before Jack’s face falls to throw his last name back in his face.

  
“I wasn’t trying to start anything,” Jack says, softly.

  
Kent closes his eyes, “Christ, Jack, I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  
“You’re tired,” Jack says firmly, like he’s talking to a horse that isn’t listening, “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

That shouldn’t be all that it takes for Kent to feel settled, but it is. He and drops his shoulders, releasing tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Yeah, okay.”

  
Two days later Kent goes to find Jack before their class together and Jack is rooting around in his tack trunk, muttering under his breath.  
“Jack?” Kent asks, “You okay?”

  
Jack jerks upright and turns around, his eyes wide. “I can’t find my anxiety meds,” his hands curl into fists at his side, “Kenny I have no idea where the fuck I put them. I can’t, I can’t show like this.”

  
Jack’s chest shudders, his breathing coming out staccatoed and Kent has no idea how to deal with this. “Zimms,” he says, and then stops because he doesn’t know what Jack needs. He closes Jack’s tack trunk and sits down, pulling Jack down next to him. Jack’s breathing still isn’t even and his eyes have fluttered shut and they have like fifteen minutes before they have to go grab their horses but Kent pushes the thought out of his head and puts his arm around Jack, hesitantly, so Jack can move away if he wants.

  
Jack doesn’t relax, but he doesn’t move away either, so Kent figures that’s a good sign and he tries to slow his breathing because maybe that will help Jack slow his and his thumb traces circles on Jack’s shoulders and Jack’s hyperventilating in earnest now.

  
“You’ve got this Zimms,” Kent whispers, “we’re gonna find your meds and then we’re gonna walk up to the ring and one of us will win the class, probably, and then we’ll come back here and put the horses away and then we can go get food or something, okay?”

  
“Okay,” Jack says and his breathing hasn’t gotten any better but it isn’t any worse and that’s something, isn’t it?

  
“Okay,” Kent says again, and he’s starting to babble but he wants Jack to be okay and he keeps tracing circles on Jack’s shoulder with his thumb and eventually Jack’s breathing evens out and he and Kent just sit there and they have to go get their horses, like now. “Are you gonna be okay to ride?”

  
Jack nods, “Lemme check my tack trunk one more time for my meds.” After a few minutes Jack pulls out a small bottle of pills and dry swallows three, then smiles at Kent and reaches out to touch his arm. “Thank you,” he says.

  
“Yeah,” Kent says, “of course. Anytime.”

  
“Thank you,” Jack says again, and he’s still quiet as they hurry back to grab their horses and walk up to the ring, but he walks closer to Kent then he normally does and when Kent walks into the ring he catches Jack’s eye and Jack smiles, tentatively, at him.

  
Kent’s so fucked.

  
-

  
They’re riding together one lazy morning, and they don’t have classes that day or the next, so when Kent has what is probably the worst idea of his life, he speaks up about it.

  
“Wanna trade?” He asks, smiling at Jack over his shoulder. “You hop on Val and I’ll get on Knightly? Bet I can get him to step out more than you can.”

  
Jack snorts, patting Knightly’s neck and standing in his stirrups, “I bet with a decent rider Val won’t rush over fences.”

  
Kent laughs, swinging off the white mare before Jack’s even fully finished his sentence, “You’re full of shit Jack. Val’s my horse; she’s just as terrible for everyone.” He passes Val’s reins to Jack their knuckles brushing for what is probably longer than necessary. Kent tries to tell himself that it wasn’t intentional, at least on his part, as he pats Knightly on the neck. This is new for them, implies they’re better friends than they actually are. Logically, he knows that him and Jack are friends - best friends, even, probably. But he can’t remember the last time anyone else has rode Val. He’s sure that he’s going to be jealous - he used to get jealous when he was younger, watching the girls at his lesson barn on horses that he normally rode, horses that he privately classified as his. Kent pushes the thought out of his mind and fiddles with the stirrups on the Wintec. “Why are your stirrups like this?” He calls to Jack, “I have to wrap these, they’re so long.”

  
Behind him, Jack huffs out a quiet, soft breath of laughter. “It’s not my fault you’re so short,” he says.

  
Kent doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response, instead leading Knightly over to the mounting block. Jack stands off to the side, sitting on Val and adjusting her stirrups from the saddle and oh. Kent’s heart surges in a way he hadn’t expected it would. Jack isn’t looking at him, focused on fixing his stirrups, Val’s reins loose around his wrist. It’s the sort of thing you can only do with a horse you trust not to run off, the sort of thing Kent wouldn’t do with Val no matter how much he loves her. In the back of his mind he still remembers every bolt and every fall they’ve ever had and for him it would feel like inviting trouble. But Jack clearly trusts Val enough to, trusts Kent’s horse and by extension - Kent? Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kent realizes that this might have been a terrible idea. He shakes his head and swings up onto Knightly, pushing his heels down and adjusting the reins. “Well?” He asks, “Miss your boy yet?”

  
Jack puts his foot in his stirrup and smiles at Kent, uncomplicated and happy. “Nah,” he says, and for just a moment Kent doesn’t know who Jack’s talking about: Knightly or Kent himself.

  
“What, uh,” Kent looks away from Jack’s eyes, which are really an unfair shade of blue, “What do you wanna start with? They’re both warmed up, so we can just go right into it, yeah?”

  
Jack bites at his lip, “IHSA rules? We each get 10 minutes to warm up and then go jump a course.”

  
Kent nods, “Sounds good.” He circles Knightly so Jack won’t see the flush that’s still lingering in his face, than urges the bay into a trot. It feels wrong, riding someone who isn’t Val, but every once in awhile Kent looks behind him and sees Jack practicing Val’s halts or cantering easily around in circles and his stomach flips over once more. The ten minutes fly by, and Kent walks Knightly over to Jack. “Alright Zimms, what’s the course?”

  
Jack doesn’t smile, but his eyes crinkle like he’s thinking about it, “We’ll keep it short, since they’ve already done flatwork. Start at the vertical, then loop around to the red and white, bent line from that to the oxer, then over the outside line.”

  
“Easy enough,” Kent says, finally looking over at Jack. “I’ll go first.”

  
Kent does get Knightly to step out more than Jack normally does, making the striding a breeze. It’s slightly gratifying to see that Val isn’t perfect for Jack and still tries to rush over fences, but he has her collecting between jumps in a way that gives him more time to pick jump spots and Kent may have to ask Jack how he did that, actually. They both have clear rounds and the sun beats down heavily on the back of Kent’s neck and he could die right now and this would be a perfect last memory.

 

“You look good up there,” Jack says to Kent. “Although I’m pretty sure Val likes me better.”

  
“Yeah,” Kent says, “she’d sell you out for a piece of peppermint though, just watch out.”

  
Jack smiles at him again and Kent’s shoulders feel loose and empty and everything about the day feels golden, like it’s his for the taking. Underneath him, Knightly is quiet in a way Val never is and Jack is still smiling, more than he ever does. Somewhere deep inside, Kent wishes that it was always like this, wishes that they could always get along and not end up snapping at each other. “Anything else you wanna do?”

  
Val calls to the horses in the field, stomping one of her hooves and shaking her head. Jack chuckles and strokes her neck, “They both did a lot today,” he says. “And neither of us have any classes tomorrow. We’ll do this again some other day.”

  
Kent is pretty sure he couldn’t take it if they did this again. “Yeah, sounds great,” he says. “Just let me finish walking out.”

  
Jack nods and loosens Val’s reins, stepping in beside Kent. They’ve changed so much from when they first knew each other, when the silence between them used to be full of animosity. Now, it stretches over them as Jack hands Knightly off to Bryn and then helps Kent turn Val out, and Kent shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He doesn’t know how to talk to Jack, sometimes. It’s always harder when they aren’t competing, even if it’s just them goofing around in the ring.

  
“I’m gonna clean tack, okay?” Jack says.

  
Kent nods, following Jack into the tack room. He doesn’t really need to clean his saddle or bridle, probably does it more than Jack does anyways, but he also really doesn’t want to go home yet. The minutes tick by. Kent’s bridle is spotless and his hands smell like saddle soap, which means that Jack’s hands probably smell like saddle soap and God, that’s a weird thought to have about your best friend.

  
“Kenny,” Jack says, and Kent whirls around so fast he’s sure he gave himself whiplash.

  
Here’s the thing: the tack rooms at the Ocala barns are things of beauty. There are always freshly cleaned bridles hanging on the walls, and they’re so large that they’re never overcrowded. Even if they did have to worry about fighting for room to clean their bridles, him and Jack are the only two people inside. So, with all of that considered, there’s really no reason for Jack to be standing so close to him. “Jack?”

  
“Kenny,” Jack says again, and then he takes a step closer, bracing his arms on the counter.

  
There’s no good reason for Jack to be this close to him. Up close, Kent can’t help but notice that his eyes look even bluer. The moment feels suspended, like the approach to a jump that seems like it will never quite come. But then again, Val always rushes fences, so it seems only logical for Kent to push up and kiss Jack full on the mouth.

  
Jack makes a noise in the back of his throat, like he’s surprised, which is hilarious because there was no way he had been expecting this to go any other way. Then, Jack brings one of his hands up to circle Kent’s arm and kisses him back. Kent shudders, his eyes falling closed. He sighs into the kiss, fisting his right hand in Jack’s polo and leaning his weight back against the counter until Jack wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer. His lips are so, so much softer than he thought they would be.

  
He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Jack pulls back, hovering just a few inches away. “How long?” Kent asks, his throat feeling tight, “How long could we have been doing this?”

  
Jack leans in and kisses him again, nothing more than a quick press of lips. “That first morning we rode together, back at Ocala.”

  
Kent surges forward, pulling Jack even closer to him. His back hurts from being pressed against Jack’s arm at a weird angle, and his left arm is starting to go numb from being pinned between their bodies but none of that matters, not when he can open his mouth lazily and feel the press of Jack’s tongue against his. “Longer,” he says between kisses, “since the first time we showed against each other.” Years later, Kent likes to think of that truth as his first mistake, the first step in all the heartbreak he’s setting himself up for. But he’s deluding himself. It was earlier, when they first went out to breakfast or when Jack offered him an out and Kent said that he wanted to keep being friends. Or maybe it had been even longer. Maybe he’d been getting set up to be hurt by Jack Zimmerman his whole life, the first time he heard one of the girls at his barn say his name.

  
But in this instant, the only thing Kent cares about is trying to catalogue every sensation, every press of lips and every point of contact: Jack’s hand on his arm, Kent’s hand on Jack’s shirt, Jack’s lip on his. He feels like he’s being cracked open, like his ribs are going to snap and protrude from his chest if Jack steps any closer. But Kent’s always been sacrificial, so he arches his back and moves closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me tumblr at [monmouthco](http://www.monmouthco.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!! this up a whole day early thanks to jackie <3

Kent’s watching one of Deborah’s other riders school when Jack walks up to him. He nods at him, then goes back to watching the kid, Miranda, ride. She looks pretty good on the pony she’s borrowing from another barn, her back perfectly straight as she trots around the ring.

“You’re swinging your hips too much,” he calls to her. “Calm down a little bit kiddo. It’s forward and back, not up and down.”

She nods, quieting her seat and shoving her heels further down. Jack leans against the fence next to Kent, mirroring his position and Kent’s skin prickles from the proximity. He wants nothing more than to reach out and press their arms together, close all the space between them. Fuck, he just wants to hold Jack's hand. It shouldn't be complicated, and yet it is. He sighs and focuses back on Miranda.

Kent keeps expecting Jack to say something, critique him or Miranda or both of them, but he stands there silently until their lesson is done. Miranda dismounts and leads her pony out from the ring, stopping to thank Kent.

"Sorry I was kinda off today," she says, taking off her helmet and scuffing the ground with her boot. "I feel like I always ride worse when you're my trainer."

Kent ruffles her hair with one of his hands and laughs, “You’re a good rider kiddo. Just wait; in a year or two I’ll have to worry about you in the ring with me.”

She quirks her lips and glances over at Jack, “Thanks Kent. Talk to you later!”

Jack waits until she’s almost completely out of sight to say something, “I didn’t know you helped train.”

Kent shrugs. He’s been helping out with other kid’s lessons for almost as long as he can remember; it’s what working students do. “You don’t?” He asks.

“Uh, not really. Sometimes I’ll go with my dad when he hosts clinics, but that’s really it.” Jack pauses, “Every now and then I’ll help out with a charity thing for little kids.” He glances sideways at Kent, “Those are pretty good. I like little kids.”

Kent can’t help but picture Jack with kids after that and something curls, low and warm in his chest at the thought of it. “Me too,” he says. “They’re always so excited to meet the horses. It’s cute.”

Jack’s still looking at him, “Yeah.” He clears his throat, “Wanna get out of here?”

That line would have been smooth coming from anyone else, would have been smooth coming from Kent, but from Jack it sounds kind of awkward, mostly dorky, the unsure flirting of a teenager who only sort of knows what he’s doing.

It shouldn’t make Kent’s heart feel as full as it does.

A grin spreads across his face, “Sure Zimms.”

-

They're sitting in the grass together behind one of the barns, Kent's hand curled loosely around Val's lead rope. Jack is pressed against his side, just close enough to be on the edge of platonic. At the end of her lead rope, Val grazes peacefully, Knightly only a few feet away from her. Jack’s reading some nonfiction book that Kent doesn’t remember the name of and is managing to hold Knightly at the same time. The sun feels warm on Kent’s skin and he could die right now and he would be perfectly content.

Knightly takes a step away and Jack clicks at him without looking up from his book, shaking the lead rope. Kent watches him with a smile and lets his free hand drift up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Jack keeps reading, but Kent sees a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Kent really wants to kiss him right now, even more so than he normally does. He figured that his near constant desire to kiss Jack would have faded once it became a thing they did regularly, but no, now it's even worse. Now, he knows what's Jack's lips feel like against his and he knows exactly the kind of breathless whine that will fall from Jack’s lips if they make out for long enough. It's not fair, is what it is.

"Hey, Zimms," he says.

"Hmm," Jack says, not looking up from his book.

"Can I kiss you?" Kent asks.

Jack freezes, brings his head up and looks at Kent with something like dawning horror on his face. "Someone might see," he says and Kent's heart stops.

He keeps the grin pasted on his face and shrugs, "So what?"

Jack shifts away from him, so minutely that Kent wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't acutely aware of everything Jack did. "Kenny, we can't tell anyone," he says. "You know that, right?"

And Kent does know that, somewhere in the back of his mind. It lurks at the edge of his consciousness every time he kisses Jack, that someone could come looking for one of them and find them all tangled up in each other, Jack's hands in his hair and Kent's hands up the back of Jack's shirt. There's no plausible deniability about that.

But he feels careless and cocky and they've both been riding so well, and it's not like anything could actually happen. This isn't dressage; nothing about jumpers is arbitrary. Either you make it over the jump, or you don't. Either you make the time limit, or you don't. It probably says something about Kent, that the black and white mentality of jumpers appeals to him so much. He thinks of people in those kinds of absolutes sometimes too.

"What are they gonna do to us if they find out?" Kent says, flippant, and Jack pulls even further away from him.

"It would be the only story about us," Jack says, and there's a snide look on his face that Kent hasn’t seen in ages. "Do you want that? No matter how well we rode or what we did, that would be the only thing they remember about this.” He shakes his head, “I want to be known for more than this."

Kent can't help the whine that comes into his voice, the sullen look that he knows is in his eyes, "Couples compete against each other all the time."

Jack levels a look at him and Kent feels very, very small. "You know this would be different."

"Yeah," Kent says, pulling at the grass with one of his hands. "Yeah, I do." He does know, after all. They already have perfect narratives, this would twist their stories, jumble them and make them messy in a way they don't need to be. Maybe someday, Kent tells himself, although he has trouble imagining Jack ever wanting to come out with him. A small, selfish part of him thinks that Jack doesn't need people the way Kent does. "Sorry," he adds, looking up at Jack.

The corner of Jack’s mouth lifts, "It's okay," he says, "just don't tell anyone, yeah?"

"Yeah," Kent says, ignoring the lump in his throat.

Jack inches back to his side again and glances around furtively, then leans in and pecks Kent on the lips. It's a reassurance, Kent knows, more for him than for Jack. He smiles and Jack resettles against his side, going back to his book. He kind of wants to touch his lips, even though it was barely a kiss and him and Jack have kissed plenty of times before. He's pretty sure Jack would make fun of him for that though, so he watches the horses graze and imagines a time when he can kiss Jack in public.

-

There’s a week until the Ocala circuit is over and Kent can feel it all around him. It hums through the air like the rhythm to a song he doesn’t remember learning, and he knows everyone else feels it too. The mild Florida winter turns sticky with heat as February turns to March and when Kent watches classes outside his division he can tell they sense it to, the bone-deep surety that this will be over soon, that everything will end and then begin again in some other town. Him and Jack are both going to Virginia in the summer, but he knows he won’t see some of these people for months and months. It would have bothered him more if he’d actually gotten to know any of them, but he’s been too busy being wrapped up in Jack.

His lesson with Deborah is uneventful, and neither of them have a class that night so he heads to Jack’s house. Bob and Alicia aren’t home, but then again they almost never are. Kent lets himself in through the side door then heads up to Jack’s room. The door’s half-open, so Kent walks in and climbs into bed with Jack. Jack doesn’t move over, but he lifts his laptop so that Kent can rest his head on Jack’s chest and then resettles it across both of them. It feels domestic in a way he hadn’t been expecting, this silent readjustment to allow him space, and Kent bites back a smile.

He focuses back on the screen and realizes that Jack is watching a recording from the end of the Ocala Tournament last week. The announcers drone on as Beth Underhill finishes her ride, and then Kent watches himself ride into the ring.

“This is 18 year-old Kent Parson, with his mare Valentine, who’s certainly an unorthodox mount. But she’s got a lot of heart and Kent believes in her,” one of the announcers says. “Kent’s had a great showing at Ocala so far, and has just been a real surprise to all of us. If you’d asked me about him at the beginning of the circuit, I would’ve said Kent who? But now this kid’s name is on everyone’s lips. He’s one of the top young riders here, really only comparable to Jack Zimmermann at this point.”

Kent’s jaw tightens, and he feels Jack’s chest go still. Holding his breath, waiting for - for what? For the other announcer to disagree?

“Yeah, absolutely,” the second commentator says, “Him and Zimmerman have been a pleasure to watch this season. They’ve both got that innate horsemanship that you really need to succeed at this level. But again this is Kent Parson on his nine year old mare, an American bred thoroughbred cross named Valentine.”

Kent remembers that class, so he doesn’t need to watch to know that he’d had a clear round and then lost to Jack in the jump off. “What are you watching this crap for?” He mutters. “We were both there, we remember how it went.”

“Watching yourself helps you see what you did wrong,” Jack says, sounding like every trainer Kent has ever had. He pauses the video as Kent approaches the triple, “I don’t know why you act like this isn’t important. Part of being a good rider is being able to look back on your mistakes and fix them.”

“I know that,” Kent says, trying to rein his temper in, “you’re not my trainer Jack.” He stares straight ahead at the ceiling, fixating on one of the cracks in it.

Jack sighs, like Kent’s some kid he’s been tasked with taking care of when he would really rather be doing anything else. Kent wants to pick a fight so, so badly, feels the itch under his skin and the sharp retort already curling at the edge of his tongue. “This is a stupid thing to fight about,” Jack says, and all the hostility seeps out of Kent. “Can’t we just,” he runs a hand through his hair, “can’t we just watch this? It’ll be good for both of us.”

He feels weirdly emotional as he focuses back on the laptop, “Sure Zimms,” he takes Jack’s hand and presses his lips to his knuckles, “whatever you want.”

-

They don't talk about the end of Ocala. It lurks in the back of Kent's mind and rears its head at inopportune times, but he shoves it to the side and focuses on Jack's hand in his instead. He knows there's only a few more days, but Ocala feels like it's been going on for years. Some part of him doesn’t think it will ever end. It feels more like a dream than anything else.

It's Alicia Zimmermann who brings it up, in the end. Kent's over at Jack's for dinner one night, which happens more often than he would've guessed. Even if Jack wants to keep it secret that they're - something, whatever they are (boyfriends? Kent wants to say it, but he’s not sure) - Jack doesn't seem to mind flaunting the fact that they're best friends and spend more time together than apart.

"So, Kent," she asks one evening, "you're from New York?"

Kent nods, "Yeah, upstate. I’m like an hour outside of Buffalo."

"You’re down here by yourself, aren't you son?" Bob says, "Or have I just not had the pleasure of meeting your mother yet?"

Kent chuckles, "No, she's back home. She, uh, couldn't get all this time off of work, and I don't mind being on my own. I'm here with my trainer and a couple of the younger kids from my barn." He's praying neither of them ask about his dad.

Alicia smiles like she's been given a gift, "Well, if you're already used to spending so much time away from home, maybe you can come visit after Ocala ends? I don't know if you're doing HITS on the Hudson, but we're going home for a few weeks before it, and you'd be more than welcome to come stay with us."

Kent glances at Jack, who pokes at his pasta but doesn't say anything. Kent doesn't know what he wants from him, a smile or something to indicate that he would like it if Kent came and stayed with him for a week or two. Jack doesn't look like he's going to say anything though, and so Kent pretends like it doesn't hurt and looks back at Alicia. "Yeah, I’m doing HITS on the Hudson," he says, "But, uh, it would be great to come visit. I'd have to talk to my mom first, and I'd have to double check about everything for school.."

Alicia waves a hand, "Oh, you could use Jack's private tutor while you visited. You’re homeschooled, aren’t you? Check with your mom and then get back to me; I can help her arrange everything."

Jack's parents are horribly kind, but they wear their privilege the same way Jack does. A private tutor. Christ, Kent can't imagine how nice that would be. He's taking everything online, but it would be nice to have something other than YouTube videos to tutor him. He smiles, "That would be awesome."

After dinner, Jack mumbles some excuse involving video games and drags Kent upstairs to his room. He closes the door behind him and says, "Are you really gonna come up in April?"

Kent shrugs, "I dunno." He wants to, desperately, but not unless Jack wants him to. He glances around Jack’s room, which is just as spotless as ever. Jack’s room has looked the same every time Kent has seen it. There’s nothing sentimental, nothing marking it as Jack’s room. Kent’s hotel room has more character than Jack’s bedroom.

In the dark, Jack’s answer seems quiet, confessional. Everything seems more honest without the lights on. "You should."

Jack had left his window open earlier in the day, and so the whole room smells to Kent like freshly-cut grass. The weather has been mild lately but a faint breeze stirs the curtains and Kent feels himself getting goosebumps despite the sunshine. "You didn’t seem to care much either way at dinner," Kent says, casual, like he doesn’t care one bit if Jack wants him or not. 

Jack steps closer and and snakes an arm around Kent’s waist, pulling him closer, "I do. I want you to come up and visit."

That's not an apology, but it'll do. Kent smiles and tilts his head up, fitting their mouths together. Jack goes pliant against him, melting into the touch and resting his hands at the small of Kent’s back. Kent’s eyes flutter closed and he tilts his head to get a better angle and he will never get tired of this. He could kiss Jack for a million years and it still wouldn’t be long enough. Jack pulls away from him and for a second Kent thinks about telling Jack he loves him.

“I missed this,” he says instead, “I missed you.”

Jack’s hands at his back are warm and when Jack chuckles it makes Kent feel like his chest is caving in, “You see me all the time.”

Kent doesn’t mean to sound honest, but the quiet sounds of the coming night and the dark room charge his words with meaning. “Not enough,” he says, and stretches up to kiss Jack again.

Jack makes a ragged noise in the back of his throat and then surges forward, pushing Kent until the backs of his knees hit Jack’s bed. Kent collapses onto the bed, fisting his hands in Jack’s shirt and pulling him down next to him. He ends up on top of the covers, between Jack and the wall, lying on his side with his face only inches from Jack’s.

Kent rests his right hand on Jack’s cheek, "We'll stay friends after Ocala, right?"

One of Jack's hands drifts into Kent's hair, stroking through it gently, "Yeah," he says.

"Okay," Kent says, "Okay."

This is a weird time to have this conversation, but it feels even odder to discuss it at all. The end of Ocala is hurtling towards them, the $100,000 Grand Prix looming heavily in Kent's mind and Jack's too, probably, but they don't bring it up to each other. 

Everyone else talks about it endlessly. Deborah brings it up almost every lesson now, drilling it into Kent's head that this is it, this is the whole point of this show circuit and he needs to do well if he wants to go to Washington in October and if he wants to be seriously considered for the Olympics.

The Grand Prix is all anyone wants to talk about. Everyone, that is, but Jack. Reporters and trainers and even Bob and Alicia mention it to Jack and he flinches like he's been hit. So Kent knows he shouldn't mention it, but he's always felt safe in the Zimmermann's house and the room seems like it’s made for the hush of confessions, so he runs a thumb over Jack’s cheekbone and whispers, "Do you think I have a shot at the Grand Prix?"

Jack keeps toying with his hair, so Kent knows that he hasn't completely ruined everything. Not yet, at least. The question hangs between them and Jack doesn't say a thing, so Kent keeps talking, "People keep telling me they think I can do it, that the adult riders don't have a chance and it's going to be you or me." He laughs, feeling a little like he's suffocating, "Do you really think I have a chance? Because we both know you do." A month ago that would have been laced with venom, but he's learned how to cushion himself around Jack and instead it sounds pleading, miserable.

"Yeah," Jack says. "I do." And it would’ve felt more like a victory if Jack didn't sound so fucking broken over it.

Kent smile splinters, jagged, but he inches forward to kiss Jack, clumsily, on the forehead. "Thanks Zimms."

-

Ocala has been dragging on, molasses-slow, since the first day Kent arrived on the showgrounds. But in the week leading up to the Grand Prix, time speeds up. The days blend together until there’s no discernable memories. It’s the sort of week that feels like a flashback as it’s happening, remembered only in snatches of conversation, country music, and naps in front of stalls and in golf carts. Casting a long, foreboding shadow over all of it is Sunday, the day of the Grand Prix.

When Saturday finally arrives it doesn’t occur to Kent to be anxious for tomorrow. He’s sitting on the roof of Jack’s house, watching the sunset spill golden and pink over the trees in the distance. Next to him, Jack fidgets, tapping his fingers against the roof. Kent stares at him, soaking in the line of his jaw, the glint of his eyes against the sun, and the way his hair curls behind his ears, trying to commit all of it to memory. “Hey, Zimms,” he says, his voice husky, "do you wanna get out of here?"

"What?" Jack says, like he's worried Kent misspoke or something.

"Not forever," Kent says, "but we could like, go for a drive or something. Listen to some shitty Florida radio. Go to the Everglades, find some big snakes."

The corner of Jack's mouth twitches, "We're nowhere near the Everglades."

Kent smiles, because if Jack's correcting his vague plans that means he's already agreed. "I'll go grab my keys."

They don't end up anywhere in particular, but it's better than sitting in silence and thinking about what tomorrow will bring. Jack fiddles with the radio until he finds a classic rock station, and Kent rolls his eyes and pokes fun at Jack's taste in music even though the music makes him smile. He’s pretty sure that he’s going to link Jack to classic rock for the rest of his life.

The highway is abandoned at this time, and Kent’s fingers are laced with Jack’s, their hands resting on the center console. Empty fields race by them and everything about the drive feels domestic and simple. Kent could get used to this. He follows the road for a while, finally ending up in Goethe State Park and Forest. 

Kent’s pickup creeps slowly through the trees, until he eventually pulls off on a small dirt road that might not be meant for cars, actually. He puts the truck in park and unbuckles his seat belt, rubbing his thumb over the back of Jack's hand. Kent flicks the lights of the truck off and the darkness surrounds them, all encompassing and absolute. "Hey, Zimms," he says, "You'll never guess what I read the other day."

Jack glances over at him, "You can read?"

The joke is stupid, barely even funny but it catches Kent by surprise and has him laughing so hard he's coughing. Jack's smile gets even wider, and it occurs to Kent that this is what happiness looks like on Jack Zimmermann: the bright eyes, the soft smiles, the deadpan comebacks and casual contact. If only he looked like this all the time.

"Anyways," Kent says, once he's caught his breath, "I read this article about this Dutch couple. They're both dressage riders, and one of them won team silver in the Olympics last year." Jack doesn't look like he's reacting at all, and so Kent looks down at where their hands are joined and whispers, "Uh, they're gay. And like, I know you don't want to come out and I'm not gonna make you but," he catches his breath, his chest feeling tight all of a sudden, "but we wouldn’t be the only ones. If you ever did want to, I mean."

"Kenny," Jack says, quietly, and Kent's sure he's going to be mad at him but when he looks up Jack's eyes are soft and fond. Jack doesn't finish whatever he was going to say, because Kent surges forward and kisses him, trying with every fiber of his body to convey to Jack that this is it for him, that he's pretty sure this is what love feels like and he doesn't ever want it to go away and he's here for Jack for as long as he'll have him.

Jack smiles against his mouth, his hand coming up to cup Kent's cheek and Kent sighs, his eyes fluttering closed. No matter what happens tomorrow, they have this.

-

Kent wakes up the morning of the Grand Prix, sunlight streaming in the gap in his curtains and he’s not nervous. He should be, probably, but he trusts himself and he trusts Val. They’ve got this.

He can only hope that Jack is as calm.

Kent doesn’t see Jack all morning, can’t find him no matter where he looks, and so he finally gives up. He spends the early parts of the day talking to his mom on the phone or going over last minute pointers with Deborah, and the whole time he’s trying (and failing) not to think about Jack.

Finally, the time comes for him to head up to the ring. He double-checks that Val’s braids are still neat and tidy, then tacks up like he would any other ride. It feels so much more mundane than he thought it would, but it’s like any ride he’s ever been on. The routine soothes him, and he hums a pop song from the radio under his breath while he puts on Val’s bridle. For once, she’s quiet, almost as if she knows that something big is coming.

He leads her out of the barn and Jack’s not waiting for him, which is… weird, to say the least. Kent shifts his weight from one foot to the other; Jack’s always there first. This is the last show of Ocala, there’s no way Jack would walk up without him. Even when they were fighting, they still walked up to classes together. For the first time all day, Kent starts to worry.

The minutes tick by and he has to leave or else he’s going to be late and Deborah will murder him, and so Kent takes a deep breath and prepares to walk up the hill alone. “C’mon Val,” he mutters, “We don’t need Jack.”

He’s tugging her forward towards the ring when Kent hears a shout behind him.

“Kenny!”

Kent turns and Jack’s jogging towards him with Knightly, and he’s out of breath and flushed but he didn’t walk up without Kent and that’s what really matters. Kent exhales, the itch beneath his skin finally dissipating, “I thought you left without me.”

Jack shakes his head, “No. I wouldn’t.”

Kent wants to kiss him so, so badly. He would, if they were alone, but there’s other people walking past them and milling about and Jack would never forgive him if he gave them away so instead he settles for smiling, “You ready?”

Jack nods, “Yeah.”

Kent smiles at him and, for the last time, they walk up the hill to the ring.

-

Kent’s watching the riders before him go and there isn’t really anything to do but wait and see, and what he’s seeing is that the course is  _ hard _ . Only four riders have jumped clear so far and that’s a small number in such a big pool and the time limit is pushing everybody over the edge, and he swears that the woman a few rounds earlier didn’t even touch the first jump in the triple but the pole came crashing down anyways. There’s mutters of the course being too hard, those of them who have yet to go glancing at each other and shifting in their saddles.

Underneath him, Val stomps one of her hooves and paws at the ground. He should snap at her for that, but he’s starting to get nervous too and he can’t really blame her for being uneasy. It’s hot out too, the humidity thick in the air and Kent wishes that he had a water bottle but there’s only a few riders before him and he doesn’t really have time to get someone to bring him something. Time slows to a crawl, and Kent wants to ride, wants to just get it over with because he hates sitting around and twiddling his thumbs. At least he’s not in Jack’s boat, who’s stuck going almost last. 

Finally, finally they’re calling his name and he shoots a smile at Jack over his shoulder before tightening his legs and sending Val forward.

Sometimes, Kent will just know that he’s going to have a perfect ride. He’ll step foot in the ring and square his shoulders, and Val will be quiet and willing, and he’ll press his legs to her sides and she’ll spring forward, looking like she’s worth ten times what he paid for her and he’ll just know, down to the very marrow of his bones, that they’ve got this.

Stepping into the ring at Ocala for the Grand Prix is like that. It’s the kind of ride that’s so perfect that he doesn’t even remember the details of it, only a vague feeling of being warm and mentally counting down the strides to take-off spots. For once, him and Val are completely and utterly on the same page, and nothing goes wrong.

Afterwards, he walks out of the ring and they’re both breathing heavily but something is unfurling in his chest and he’s the fifth person to ride clear and he can’t complain even if they don’t win because there’s no way that ride could have gone any better.

He turns Val around to check the rankings and they’re in first and Kent finally realizes that the funny feeling in his chest is pride, and that he’s proud of himself. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like. He tries to get Jack’s attention, but Jack is focused on Knightly, and there’s only a few riders before him so Kent can’t fault him for not wanting to look over and congratulate Kent for the most perfect jump course Kent’s ever ridden in his entire life.

Kent forgets how well Valentine knows him sometimes, but she’s perfectly still as they watch Jack ride into the ring, not an ounce of restlessness. Jack does his courtesy circle, and then points Knightly at the first fence and they sail over it, poetry in motion.

He wants Jack to do well, he really truly does, but a small snide voice in his head is thinking about how picture-perfect Kent’s ride was and how Jack doesn’t even need the money he would get from winning. He brushes the thought to the side and thinks about how the second place purse is still ridiculously large, but when Jack and Knightly land weird after the triple and throw off their striding to the last oxer, a small part of Kent is thrilled. If Jack doesn’t get through this clear and with no time faults, Kent wins. Full stop.

The oxer looms closer and Jack’s corrected Knightly’s speed enough that they have a decent jump spot, but it’s still not as good as it could have been and so Kent isn’t surprised when he hears one of the bay’s back hooves thud heavily against the rail of the fence.

It seems to Kent like the whole arena is holding its breath as the pole teeters back and forth in the cup. The seconds tick by and when Kent realizes the pole’s not going to fall he can’t tell if he’s happy or not. Jack finishes the rest of the ride without a problem, and it’s not really fair, that Jack’s on an expensive, experienced horse and won on what was, objectively, not a great ride whereas Kent just had the best ride of his life.

Val tosses her head and Kent smooths a hand down her neck. He can’t be mad about second place, not really. This is only one class in one show, and there’s plenty more like this. Kent inhales and swings off of Val, then presses his face into her neck. “You did good,” he whispers. His ability as a rider doesn’t hinge on how well he does compared to Jack. 

It’s not until they get their ribbons that it really sinks in for Kent that he’s gotten second. He walks back to the barn and puts Val away, and his blood is still singing. He has a check for $22,000 waiting to be deposited into his bank account and he’s gonna be able to finish paying his mom back for Val and get some new tack and still have a little bit left over. He feels invincible, and his show career can only get better from here. He finds Jack sitting in the grass behind one of the barns and throws himself down on the grass next to him, his grin is fixed to his face so firmly that his cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling.

“I can’t believe it went that well,” he says, still giddy with excitement.

Jack isn’t smiling, “I shouldn’t have won that.”

Kent finally comes down off of his post-class high enough to actually look at Jack. His shoulders are slumped, and underneath his show coat his shirt is buttoned wrong. His hair is sticking up from all the times Jack’s run his hands through it, and his eyes have the slightly glazed look that Kent has finally learned to recognize as a warning sign of a panic attack.

He sits up and pushes his shoulder against Jack’s, “What are you talking about? You had a great ride, and you’ve been working towards this for ages. You deserved to win.”

Jack shakes his head, “No. We both know that rail should have come down. You should have won and one of the others should have gotten second.” He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is hoarse and strained, “I don’t deserve to be higher than sixth.”

Kent never knows what to do when Jack’s like this, so he drops his voice an octave like he’s talking to Val when she’s spooked and says, very gently, “That’s not true.”

Jack shudders, “Yes, it is.”

Kent chews on his lip, and he doesn’t know what Jack wants from him and he knows if he asks he’ll end up snapping at Jack and making things worse, so he keeps his voice measured and in the same tone of voice as before, says, “Do you want me to get your meds?”

Jack shudders again and nods, and Kent crosses the room to Jack’s bag and pulls out the small bottle of pills. He hands them to Jack, who dry swallows four like it’s nothing. Kent cuts his gaze away, and tries not to think about how even when Jack beats him, Kent feels like he has to console him.

“Kenny,” Jack says, and presses his face into Kent’s neck and Kent can’t be angry at him when he’s like this, even if he really wants to be. 

He curls his arm around Jack and presses his face into his hair. “I know,” he says, even though he really, really doesn’t.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Kent looks back on that summer, he thinks that he should have noticed something was wrong sooner. There were too many things he swept under the rug, dismissed because he was young and didn’t know any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay first of all thank you so much to everyone who has read this and left kudos or a comment! this au was very fun to write and will almost definitely be a series because I wrote 3k of what happens after this ends the other night when I couldn't sleep haha. Thanks one last time to Jackie (and also Libby who came in very clutch this final chapter)!
> 
> also minor trigger warning related to anxiety meds - spoilers/detail at the end if you want them

Ocala ends, and Kent doesn’t know why it surprises him. In what feels like an instant, the hustle and bustle is gone, replaced by an eerie quiet as everyone packs up their things. Most of them will head to another show circuit and the same pattern will repeat itself, and the same time next year the same group will return to Ocala and compete in the same classes. The cycle will go on and on, and Kent watches everyone pack up what’s been their lives for the past few months and wishes he could do it as with as little thought.

It feels like a part of him will always be here, golden-tinged and bright eyed in the early hours of the morning with Jack on the other end of the ring.

Kent pulls himself out of his thoughts and strokes Val’s nose. He needs to load her into the trailer; he knows that Deborah is planning on leaving soon. “I didn’t think I’d like it here this much,” he says to Val. “I thought I’d be counting down the days until we went home the whole time.” At the sound of his voice Val pricks her ears, focusing her attention on him and it makes him feel a little less broody and alone. “I’m gonna miss it,” he admits.

Val nickers and he laughs, “You don’t even know what I’m saying.”

She doesn’t reply, only shoves his stomach with her muzzle. He rubs her forehead, then clips her lead rope on and opens the stall door. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

For once, Val loads onto the trailer without a fuss, leaving Kent alone in the dawn, blinking in the face of the rising sun. This time a week ago, he would’ve been in one of the practice rings with Jack and Knightly, and afterwards they would’ve made out in his car and it would have been the perfect start to the day. Now he’s sitting on the fenders of the gooseneck trailer, playing on his phone and waiting for Deborah to be ready to leave.

He’s also waiting for Jack, if he’s being honest with himself. They’d hung out last night and made vague plans to meet up in the morning, but Kent doesn’t know when he’ll show. He’s been trying to convince himself it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t, has thrown himself into helping Deborah pack up some last minute things and get all the horses loaded. Still, a part of him panics at the thought of not seeing Jack before he leaves. He’s still not convinced Jack isn’t going to cut off all contact with him as soon as Ocala ends, even if he’s going to visit him in two weeks anyways.

As if Kent’s doubt had summoned him, Jack drops down next to him, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Kent says. In the early morning light, Jack's eyes are lit up, so electric blue that it’s dizzying. In the back of his head, Kent thinks that his hair probably looks really good right now, like gold. He grins at Jack and it’s one of the biggest injustices in his life that he can’t kiss him goodbye. “I’m gonna miss you,” he says, pressing his shoulder against Jack’s.

Inside the trailer, one of the horses snorts. Jack shifts, throws his arm around Kent. “You’ll see me in two weeks.”

It feels like forever to Kent. Not seeing Jack every day is going to be a uniquely terrible experience, something he hasn’t had to go through yet. It’s unthinkable, is what it is. Kent whines and turns his face into Jack’s neck, “That’s too long.”

Jack laughs and uses his hand to smooth down Kent’s cowlick, “If you say so.”

Kent lifts his head and his mouth is so close to Jack’s, and there’s no one around so it’s not like there’s any harm in leaning forward and closing the distance between them. Jack curves himself away from Kent, his shoulders bunching up and his back a tight line. "Kenny," he says, a warning note in his voice.

“I know,” Kent says, and he means to sound apologetic but when the words leave his mouth they end up sounding sad, defeated.

Jack’s arm around him tightens, and he says, “Uh- we could go somewhere else?”

The corner of Kent’s mouth lifts, “Yeah?”

Jack looks down at him, and there’s something like adoration in his eyes but on second thought it kinda looks like pity. It’s funny; Kent didn’t think those two things could be so close to each other. “Yeah,” Jack says.

They end up in an empty feed room, the dirt floor still scuffed with marks from boots and hay bales. Kent’s kissing Jack before the door swings all the way closed behind them, and it’s stupid, reckless, but Kent can’t find it in himself to care. Jack doesn’t seem like he minds either, his arm bunched up between them and his hand fisted in Kent’s shirt. Kent’s hand is in Jack’s hair and he’s panting into his mouth and he doesn’t know how he’s going to go without this, even if it’s only for a little over a week.

Jack pulls away from him and Kent thinks about saying that he loves him but he chases after him instead. Jack spreads his hand flat on his chest and pushes, leaving Kent hovering just a breath away from his mouth, “Kenny, you have to leave. We both do.”

Kent whines and kisses Jack again, “I don’t wanna.”

“I’ll call you,” Jack promises. “And I’ll see you soon.”

A week and a half is too long. They’re only eighteen but Kent knows that this is it, that him and Jack are gonna stay together and take the equestrian world by storm. It’s the same surety he felt the first time he stepped in a show ring, the first time rode Val. It’s the realization that he’s exactly where he needs to be, bone deep and settling somewhere in his rib cage. Kissing Jack is like that, like coming home, no matter how many times he does it. 

“Yeah, okay,” Kent pouts.

Jack chuckles and kisses Kent again, long and hard and like he means it. “I’ll see you soon,” he repeats, and then he turns and leaves Kent in the empty room.

Kent scrubs a hand over his face and lets out a sigh. It's time to find Deborah and leave. 

-

It seems like Kent’s heading to Jack’s in no time at all, although the week and a half had seemed infinite as it was going by. But finally, finally, he’s hugging his mom goodbye in the early hours of the morning before driving to the barn and loading Val into the trailer with all the paperwork he needs to travel across the Canadian border tucked away in the glove compartment. As the barn disappears in his rear view mirror, Kent switches to a classic rock station and hums tunelessly along. Before the end of the day, he’ll have Jack next to him again and if he's lucky the empty feeling in his chest will finally disappear.

Jack’s described his house to Kent over the phone before, but nothing he’s said has done it any justice at all. Kent’s breathless, slowing his truck and trailer to a crawl down the tree-covered driveway. The road seems endless, but then he turns a corner and sees the barn through a break in the trees, pristine white and rising out of the grass like something out of a dream. He realizes that he’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white and Kent loosens his grip, pulling his hands away like they’re burning. 

The colors seem richer here, the green of the fields so verdant that it hurts Kent’s eyes to look right at them. He focuses instead on the horses dotting the pastures, the bays and browns of their coats impossibly dark. Above it all hangs a clear blue sky, the sort of skyline that you only ever see in paintings. There's no way he'll remember this right. Kent’s eyes water and he realizes he stopped blinking, like if he looked away everything would vanish. He swallows and tears his eyes back to the road ahead of him, starts driving again - when had he stopped? - and tries to ignore the pounding in his head. He wants for it all, the longing so deep and plaintive that it makes him feel sick.

He puts his truck in park outside of the farmhouse and turns it off. There's no way he doesn't look out of place, in his shitty old pickup and worn down sneakers. The farm looks even more pristine than it had a moment ago, and Kent sinks down a little further into his seat.

The front door to the house bursts open and Jack’s standing there, wide-eyed and as beautiful as he’s always been. Kent gets out of the truck and slams it behind him, lets the sound reverberate through his bones. It feels good to make noise, to disrupt the peaceful tranquility of the farm.

The noise breaks whatever spell has kept Jack from coming outside, and he closes the door behind him and runs down the steps. Kent doesn’t even think before throwing his arms around Jack and burying his face in Jack’s neck. He lifts his head and grins, easy and uncomplicated, “Hey, Zimms. Didja miss me?”

Jack laughs and shoves at his shoulder, “C’mon, let’s get Val turned out. I set up a stall for her earlier.”

After they’ve gotten Val settled, Kent’s given a tour of the barn which is somehow even better up close. The whole space oozes warmth, the wide aisles of the barn feeling comfortable and lived in. A few horses are inside, their heads hanging over the stall doors and Jack stops to pet one of them, leaving Kent standing in the middle of the aisle.

“This is amazing,” Kent whispers, and he knows he sounds like some small-town kid seeing a fancy barn for the first time but this is nothing like anything he’s ever seen. His barn at home is beautiful, but it’s always busy, grooms bustling and horses coming and going and trainers calling to students and one of the dogs is always in the way. It’s a show barn, through and through, but this is different. Quiet. Safe.

It’s everything Kent’s ever wanted, and now that he’s faced with it all it does is make him sad. He runs a hand against the smooth wood walls and thinks about a future where he has enough money to afford a barn like this, where he can look at a new saddle or breeches and not have his first thought be  _ how much does it cost? _

He glances at Jack, still hovering by one of the horses and imagines what it would be like to grow up here. He can’t comprehend it, wonders if it still hurts to look at even when you’ve lived here your whole life. He glances sideways at Jack, cooing at one of the horses in a stall down the aisle and thinks that he’d like to find out. 

-

They’re in the barn during the early hours of the day feeding and Jack looks over at Kent with a glint in his eye and a grin on his face and Kent knows this is going to be a day worth remembering. “Hey, Parse,” he says, “have you ever taken Val swimming?”

“Nah, there’s nowhere to go back home,” he says.

Jack’s whole face lights up like Kent's given him a tremendous gift, “Well, now’s your chance.”

Kent thinks about pointing out that they’d been planning on setting up a jump course today, but Jack’s expression has knocked something loose in his chest and he can’t bring himself to say no. The day is perfect for being down by the water anyways, the sunlight streaming in heady and strong through the open barn doors. 

Besides, it’s not every day Jack asks to do something that isn’t actively going to benefit them in the show ring, so Kent starts grooming Val. He doesn’t ride bareback very often, since Val’s withers are sharp and it always kind of hurts, but he doesn’t have any idea how she’s going to react to water so it seems smart to bring as little tack down as possible. He hums under his breath as he puts her bridle on, and Jack's impatient next to him, fidgety and full of energy. Kent hasn't seen him this excited before, and he's having trouble reconciling this version of Jack with the one he knows from shows.

Kent grabs his helmet and slings Val's halter over his shoulder, then turns to Jack, "You ready?"

Jack pats Knightly's neck, "Yup!" He leads Knightly out and halts him next to the mounting block, then swings himself on. For once, Kent's glad that Val's kind of small and he doesn't have to vault onto a 17.2 monster like Jack does.

Kent can't remember the last time he rode bareback, and he's forgotten how nice it is. Jack seems like he does this more, riding in only a halter. He looks relaxed, especially compared to Kent's ramrod straight back and the way he knows his heels are still shoved down like he's in a show ring trying to impress a judge.

"Do you come down here a lot?" Kent asks, glancing over at Jack.

"Euh, often enough." Jack says, "I like riding like this."

"Yeah," Kent shrugs. "I've never ridden her with a halter though."

"No?" Jack asks, frowning, "You should, it's good for you."

Kent grunts, "It wasn't very realistic when she took off every time she thought you weren't paying attention."

Jack goes quiet at that, and they spend the rest of the ride in silence. Kent keeps sneaking glances at Jack, trying to memorize what Jack looks like when he's at ease. He’s used to having to coax smiles out of Jack, but it isn’t like that here.

They finally reach the lake and Knightly plows right in, pawing at the water and splashing up his chest. Jack laughs and Kent smiles, happy to see him happy. He urges Valentine forward and she takes a cautious step into the pond, putting her head down and drinking from it.

Kent smiles and curls his fingers in her mane, then squeezes her again, “C’mon girl.”

She takes another step forward, then lifts one of her hooves and drops it. Jack’s stopped paying attention to Knightly, the full weight of his gaze on Kent. Kent laughs, makes eye contact with Jack, smirks, “Like what you see Zimms?”

Jack laughs again, carefree and loud and Kent’s grinning so wide that the muscles in his face hurt. Valentine surges forward without a warning and Kent yelps as she springs deeper into the pond, the water coming up to lap at his knees. She snorts and tosses her head, then jumps forward once more, the water covering her back and her legs churning underneath her. Kent’s drenched, the denim of his jeans heavy against his legs. At the edge of the pond, Jack's still laughing and that more than anything else lifts Kent's spirits.

Kent laughs, then slides off of Val so that they’re both treading water. He pulls the reins over her head and she swims further into the lake, so fast that Kent’s struggling to keep up with her. He fists a hand in her mane and lets her pull him, which he knows is dangerous but she’s so happy that he can’t bring himself to care.

When they finally drag themselves out of the pond Kent’s shirt is sticking to him and he’s soaked through to his bones. He switches Val into her halter and ties her to the hitch post next to Knightly, then sprawls out in the grass. Next to him, Jack’s sitting against a tree and almost completely dry which doesn’t seem fair to Kent, so he rolls over and drapes himself across Jack’s lap.

Jack crys out and shoves at Kent, “Get off me! You’re soaked.”

“I’m cold,” Kent says. “You didn’t tell me the pond was gonna be cold.”

Jack shoves at Kent again, but Kent grabs his hand out of the air and tangles their fingers together. He smiles, knows that his grin looks silly but can’t bring himself to care. “Hey,” he says.

Jack tightens his grip on Kent’s hand, “Hey.”

There aren’t enough words in the world for how much Kent loves him. “Hey,” he says again.

Jack laughs and Kent feels warmer already. He loves Jack’s laugh, the always present hush to it, like the fact that he knows how to laugh is a secret. It makes Kent feel like he knows something no one else does, like he’s the only one Jack ever laughs for. It makes Kent’s lungs feel tight, a feeling that sticks with him for the rest of the afternoon no matter how fondly Jack looks at him.

-

Nothing lasts forever. Rationally, Kent knows that, but the end of his trip to the Zimmermann’s comes much too fast. Standing on the front step of their house, saying his last goodbyes, he can’t help but wonder if time passes different here. It wouldn’t surprise him, seems in line with all the other wondrous things about the farm. He’s certain that the color green will never look so bright again.

“Kent, sweetie,” Alicia says, pulling him out of his reverie, “you should come up again over the summer.”

Kent fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt, tries not to let the blatant excitement show on his face. He loves the Zimmermann’s house, loves the huge barn and manicured schooling rings and the smiles that come to Jack’s face easier. He loves Bob and Alicia and the way they ask him about his schoolwork and his mom and the way Bob offers advice on how to deal with Val with a smile and a hand on his shoulder. “Really?”

Jack doesn’t say anything, and his silence is deafening.

“Of course!” Alicia beams, “You can travel with us to shows, it’d be so much easier.”

“I’d have to check with my mom,” Kent says, and he glances at Jack, who’s glaring stony-faced at the floor. Alicia and Bob seem oblivious to it, their attention focused wholly on Kent.

“Of course,” Bob says, clapping his hand down on Kent’s shoulder. “But it’d be great to have you around, son.”

Kent’s always been kinda selfish, so he pretends not to notice the anger coming off of Jack in waves and grins up at Bob, “That’d be great.”

-

Kent heads home after Canada and immediately starts counting down the days till HITS on the Hudson, the days until he can see Jack again. He has a month off from showing, since he decided last minute to not do the Commonwealth National. He regrets it almost immediately, but his mom is so excited to see him more that he can’t go back on it.

His friends from the barn seem inadequate, now that he has Jack. It must be obvious, in the way he talks about him that there’s something special about him, about the two of them together. It wouldn't surprise him if everyone's tired of hearing about Jack, but there's no way to talk about Ocala without talking about him. All Kent's best stories have Jack in them.

The days trickle by, inconsequential and uninteresting. Kent calls Jack a few times a week and stays up late talking to him, works on dressage with Val and one of Deborah’s horses. The month off is good, gives him time to think about his career and what he wants after this show season. He pays his mother back for Val and thinks about trying to lease a horse during the winter, so he has someone to work on dressage with full time. If he wants to go to the Olympics in 2012, he’ll need a horse that’s more than a jumper. He loves Val, but he knows in his heart she’ll never have the patience to go quietly for whole dressage routines and he couldn’t trust her on a cross-country course.

He occupies himself in a million different ways, and none of them are enough to convince him he’s not lonely without Jack. When HITS on the Hudson finally comes, seeing Jack from across the barn feels like returning home.

-

The show season ticks by, second by second. He stays with the Zimmermanns at hotels now, trailers with them to shows and sees Bob and Alicia more than he sees his mom. He graduates high school and goes to a jumper class instead of the ceremony.

When he looks back on that summer, he thinks that he should have noticed something was wrong sooner. There were too many things he swept under the rug, dismissed because he was young and didn’t know any better. 

But spring turns to summer, and Kent doesn’t stop being in love. They’re in New York state, only a few hours from Kent’s hometown and this event wouldn’t mean anything except for that it’s a qualifier for the Washington International this year and they both need the points. Jack’s been quieter here, more reserved than Kent’s used to.

He tries to tell himself that Jack must is finally feeling the exhaustion from a long season of showing, but Kent is pretty sure he’s taking more pills than he used to. Kent doesn’t know what to say, and he knows the words will come out wrong if he asks Jack, so he says nothing.

The only good thing about this qualifier so far is that Jack and Kent have a shared hotel room. It’s almost as good as being at Jack’s house in Canada, except the beds here are narrower and the mattresses are less comfortable. But still, Kent gets to fall asleep with Jack’s nose pressed against the back of his neck and wake up warm, pressed against Jack’s chest.

It feels like they spend most of their free time in the hotel room, if for no other reason than that there’s nothing to do in the town around the showgrounds, if Kent can even call it a town. Kent sighs, trying to focus on the Chopped rerun playing on the TV. Jack’s fingers are threading themselves through Kent’s hair though, and that’s infinitely more satisfying to pay attention to than some random chef. His eyes are starting to drift closed when Jack speaks.

“Do you ever wish you didn’t do this?”

“What?” Kent asks, lifting his head to look at Jack. “Us?”

“No,” Jack says, and Kent can’t tell if that’s a good sign or not, “this. Being here, competing.”

Kent turns the idea over in his head, trying to figure out what Jack wants him to say. Sometimes he wonders if the things he says to Jack are what he actually meant or what he thinks Jack wants to hear. “I can’t imagine not riding,” he settles on.

Jack exhales next to him and Kent reaches over and laces their fingers together. “Not that,” Jack says, “don’t you ever want it to all be hacking around in a field?”

Kent understands what he means, and he can see the script he’s supposed to follow to make Jack feel better laid out neatly in front of him. But instead he closes his eyes and tightens his grip on Jack’s fingers. “You don’t win anything for goofing around on trails,” he says, so softly that for a second he thinks if he's lucky Jack won’t hear him. He should have softened the blow, but what he actually wants to tell Jack is that a future where he has horses and this sport doesn’t consume him has always seemed like a luxury. He’s stuck in this loop until he wins so much that the ribbons and the money stop meaning anything at all.

It’s the wrong thing to say. Jack stiffens, stops carding his fingers through Kent’s hair. A heartbeat too late, it occurs to Kent that Jack hadn’t actually wanted him to be honest.

Kent twists his head and kisses Jack’s neck, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, but he wants Jack to be happy like he was only a few minutes ago, like he was in Canada or for parts of Ocala. He’s different here.

Jack sighs and the sound of it is suffocating, but his fingers start carding through Kent’s hair again. Kent kisses his neck again and _ I love you _ is right on the tip of his tongue but he knows it’s not the right time. Besides, if he keeps it to himself than he doesn’t have to worry about Jack not loving him back.

“It’s okay,” Jack says, the reply a moment too late for it to sound real.

Kent smiles and wishes that he believed him.

-

The shows bleed together after that, the summer running into a comfortable routine of qualifiers and classes. It’s so unlike his first few days at Ocala, when Kent knew a handful of people and was tense and anxious about doing everything the right way. Now, he’s on a first-name basis with almost all the grooms and most of the riders.

And threaded through it all is Jack. Kent spends the summer in his orbit, napping in golf carts together before classes and sharing headphones in the back of the truck on the way to shows. People stop expecting them to be apart, and magazine features about one of them become features about both of them. 

In the midst of everything, Kent forgets how to be alone.

They’re together when they get the news that they’ve both qualified for the Washington International, and even though they both expected is Kent is still breathless with excitement. Jack throws his arms around Kent, pulling him so close that it kind of hurts. Kent’s blood is humming through his veins and as Jack buries his head into Kent’s hair he thinks about what it would be like to come home to this every day. Kent presses his face against Jack’s neck and the hug is in no way comfortable but Jack’s so warm and his arms around him are a heavy weight and Kent knows that he’ll stay here for as long as Jack lets him.

Jack finally lets go of him and Kent already misses the contact, but he still feels excitement thrumming through his veins. “We did it,” he says.

Jack chuckles, equal parts giddy and surprised. “We did,” he repeats.

Kent should’ve left it at that, but he’s still running on the adrenaline of the moment and he can’t stop the words from leaving his mouth, “If this goes well we’re going to the World Cup in April.”

It’s probably telling, how Jack freezes up at the mention of the World Cup, goes motionless and rigid. He nods, and Kent dismisses the sudden tension in Jack’s shoulders. Later, he’ll realize how big of a mistake that was.

-

Kent’s never been to D.C. before and is surprised to find that he likes it. The skyline is less imposing than other cities he’s been to, and the tourists make him seem less out of place. Everyone seems a bit like a tourist, even the people who belong here. He wonders if it’s a side-effect of all the politicians and the constant comings and goings of commuters or if it’s simply the way things are here.

He’s better off than Val, at least, who’s never been in any sort of city before and can’t stand still to save her life. She’s not scared, like a few of the other horses, but every little thing distracts her, so much so that Kent gives up on trying to fix her braids. If they were at home and she was like this, he’d take her for a walk but that isn’t something he can do in the middle of D.C, is it?

He texts Jack to ask if it would be weird to handwalk his horse in the middle of the city and loiters outside Val’s stall, waiting for the response. “Parse,” Jack says from behind him, holding Knightly, “you ready to go?”

Kent whirls around, “What?”

Jack stares at him blankly, “We were gonna take them for a walk?”

“You know, when I texted you asking if it would be weird I didn’t mean you had to come with me,” he says, unhooking Val’s stall guard and clipping on her lead rope.

Jack shrugs, unperturbed, “You’ve never been here before.”

How much he loves Jack hits him full force, so strong that it almost knocks him off balance and he’s pretty sure he’s blushing a little because Jack is looking at him with an odd expression on his face, caught somewhere between affection and confusion. Kent swallows and pulls Val out of her stall. “Let’s go.”

Leading his horse down a sidewalk in the middle of D.C. is without a doubt one of the strangest things Kent’s ever done as an equestrian. Val is skittish, which is understandable since everything going on around them is alien to her. She’s dances on the end of her lead rope and Kent snaps it, automatic, “Hush.”

She snorts but stops jerking her head around so much, and Kent pats her shoulder as he stops at a crosswalk to wait for the light to turn green. On his other side, Jack is silent, although Knightly keeps lifting his feet and then putting them down again, marching in place.

“This is weird,” Kent says, as yet another man in a suit stumbles past them, rubbernecking to get a better look at the horses.

Jack’s expression stays completely stoic, “They needed to be handwalked, and you needed the company.”

Kent starts to reply but is cut off by a little girl shouting, “Pony!” at the top of her lungs.

Knightly flinches away from the noise and Jack runs a hand down his neck, murmuring to him in French, so quiet that Kent can’t pick up any of the words, only the hushed tenor of them. Val pricks her ears, her attention focused on a little girl in a puffy pink dress hurtling towards them. The girl’s father is sprinting after her, and grabs her just before she gets close enough to touch Val.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “She’s been going through a horse phase and we, uh, weren't expecting to see horses in the city.” He glances over at Jack and Knightly, then back to Kent and Val.

Kent chuckles, “Yeah, I get that. There's a pretty big show going on down at the Verizon Center. We'll be here all week."

"Huh," he says, "I had no idea. I've only ever been there to watch hockey."

“Pony!” The little girl says again, reaching a hand out towards Val.

Val stretches her neck forward, nudging the girl’s hand with her muzzle. The girl squeals and tucks her hand her chest and suddenly Kent has the most brilliant idea. “I think I have a treat if you wanna give her one,” he says. “That is, uh, if your dad doesn’t mind.”

The girl’s father’s eyes light up, “No, that would be fine!”

Kent digs a peppermint out from the pocket of his breeches. “Alright,” he says to the girl, “you have to hold your hand really flat, okay?” He demonstrates, making the palm of his hand perfectly flat.

The little girl nods, her face screwed up in concentration and she gazes up at Kent with wide, excited eyes. He grins at her and unwraps the peppermint, drops it in her palm. “Okay, now just put your hand near her face.”

She giggles as Val eats the treat out of her hand and Kent smiles at Jack over his shoulder. With his arm draped around the bay’s neck, Jack looks broody and even more out of place than Kent. He thinks, absentmindedly, about how different they must look at a glance, Kent, with his golden hair and stark white mare next to the sharp lines of Jack’s face and his huge gelding. The little girl giggles again and Kent pulls his attention back to her, still grinning.

“What’s her name?” she asks, reaching a hand out and touching Val’s nose tentatively.

Kent scratches her neck, feels a fierce surge of pride at how good she’s being and how far they’ve come, “Valentine,” he says.

The little girl’s mouth shapes the word after him, holding it like the most precious thing she’s ever heard, “Valentine.”

“Okay kiddo,” her dad says, “let’s let the nice boy and his horse go.”

She pouts and tries to talk her way into spending more time with the pony, but her dad eventually carries her away after thanking Kent. He watches them go with a smile, then turns to Jack, who’s still hanging off of Knightly’s neck. Now, though, there’s a trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth and Kent rolls his eyes at the fond expression on Jack’s face. “Whatever,” he says, “it’s still weird being at a show in the middle of the city.”

The light changes and Jack doesn’t say anything back to Kent, although the fond look in his eyes doesn’t go away as he clucks at Knightly and walks forward. Kent hesitates, then ducks his head and follows.

-

It’s a little after midnight and they're some of the last riders out of the warm-up ring. Kent’s exhausted, but the Washington International is a huge show and this was the only way for them to have enough room to school over fences. He’s listing on his feet a little as he walks, one hand braced on Val’s neck to keep his balance. At his side, Jack is expressionless, looking like he’s been carved out of stone. Kent wonders if Jack would still be schooling if not for him and he shies away from the thought, tells himself that Jack knows better than to risk an overtired horse.

“Are you gonna try to school again tomorrow?” Kent asks, glancing over at Jack.

“Probably,” Jack says.

That hadn’t been the answer Kent was expecting at all. He grimaces, “Yeah, I guess. If you want a decent amount of room you’ll have to get up at like three to school.”

Jack grunts, “I can take another nap in the afternoon.”

Kent looks at the sidewalk, focuses on walking in as straight of a line as he can and not on telling Jack how to ride. “Yeah, if you say so.” He’s so tired that his eyes ache, and he can’t imagine getting up in three hours to go tack up his horse and go school again. It seems like a bad idea, but the President’s Cup isn’t until tomorrow evening and they could go back to sleep in the afternoon. He gnaws at his lip, worrying it between his teeth, then shakes his head. Val had been great earlier; they don’t need to try to cram one more practice in. He trusts her, and he trusts himself. “All the same,” he says, “I think I’d rather sleep in.”

The stalls are quieter than normal, but there’s still a few grooms touching up braids or waiting in line to give baths. Jack hands off Knightly to Bryn, then walks to Val’s stall with him. Carrie, one of the other rider’s grooms pokes her head into Val’s stall just as Kent’s starting to untack.

“Kent!” She says, and Kent smiles back at her. He likes talking to the grooms at shows, likes hearing the gossip about the riders and what their horses are really like. It reminds him of sitting in hotel hallways in 4H, learning who said what to who. “Do you want me to put her away?” Carrie asks, gesturing to Val. “I just finished up with Alaska, I really don’t mind.”

Kent hesitates, then thinks about collapsing into bed with Jack and getting to sleep a full eight hours. “You’re the best,” he says. “You’re my favorite groom in the whole world. If I ever get a groom they’ll still be my second favorite to you.”

She laughs and ducks under the stall guard, “Sure thing Kent! Get some sleep, okay? And good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he says, patting Valentine’s shoulder before leaving the stall, “for real, I owe you one.”

The walk back to the hotel is longer than he remembers, and Kent slumps into Jack’s side. “Zimms, ‘m tired,” he mumbles.

Normally Jack would laugh and pull him closer, or at least tolerate the contact, but tonight he just shrugs Kent off of his shoulder and shifts away. The extra inch of space between them feels like a chasm, and Kent doesn’t know how to cross it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and Jack doesn’t reply.

In the hotel room, they brush their teeth side by side, elbows brushing and Kent is struck, not for the first time, about how strangely intimate it is. He spits the toothpaste into the sink and then walks back into the room, collapsing down onto one of the beds. Jack flicks the light off and slides in next to him, pulls the covers over both of them. It’s domestic and sweet, and Kent smiles into his pillow, any bitterness over Jack’s coldness before washed away. He rolls over so they’re nose to nose and brings himself more firmly into Jack’s space. It’s late and they should both get some sleep, especially Jack if he’s really planning on getting up and schooling in a few hours.

Jack smiles at him though, a little shy and there’s a light in his eyes Kent doesn’t quite know how to place. He smiles back, “Are you nervous for tomorrow?”

Jack doesn’t respond for a moment, his eyes focusing instead on some point over Kent’s shoulder. It still makes Kent’s breath catch, sometimes, seeing him this close up. “I don’t know,” he says. “Yes. I want it to be over.”

That isn’t what Kent had expected him to say either, but Jack’s been surprising him all night. He thinks about tomorrow for a minute, tries to decide if he wants it to be over the way Jack does. He thinks about the approach to the first jump, the exhilarating feeling of getting a jump spot exactly right and the way time slows down over a fence, about bent lines and flying changes and how well this show season has gone. The realization that he’s excited for tomorrow hits him like a sledgehammer, and his smile at Jack is brittle. He wishes he could be honest, but instead he fiddles with the cheap hotel comforter and says, a touch too casual to be real, “Yeah.”

-

When Kent wakes up in the morning, Jack’s already gone. It’s only a little past 9am, and the sun’s streaming in through the curtains. The President’s Cup isn’t for hours, and Kent’s already jittery. If this goes well, he’ll be on the radar for the Olympic team, will probably be going to the World Cup in April. He feels more out of place here than he has a long time, and the feeling reminds him a little bit of that first day in Ocala, all the way back in January. 

But now, under his anxiety is like a constant tug to go find Jack and talk through the jump course with him one more time. He really needs to find him before the President’s Cup starts. He needs - god, he doesn’t know what he needs. He doesn’t get nervous before shows the way Jack does, but they’re the youngest people competing with the adults. It must be even more surreal for Jack, who's showing against people he’s known since he was in short stirrup classes. 

The stalls are quiet - as quiet as a show in the middle of DC can be, which isn't very quiet at all - and there’s only an hour until it starts. They have to finish getting ready soon. Kent grabs his helmet and stops outside Class Action’s stall, “Hey, Jessica, have you seen Jack?”

She shakes her head, not looking up from her phone, “Figured he was with you.”

“Nah, and he’s not with Knightly either. He’s probably just chilling or something. I’ll go find him. Can you make sure someone bridles Val for me if I’m not back in time?” Kent knows he's said too much, that he’s coming off erratic and worried and Jessica is probably mocking him from behind her phone.

“Yeah, no problem,” she says. “And if I don’t see you, good luck out there, yeah?”

“Yeah, you too,” he says, hurrying off.

Kent wanders aimlessly around the makeshift stalls. He calls Jack, but his phone goes straight to ringtone so it must be off, which is kind of out of character for Jack. Kent frowns. It’s pretty common for Jack to not reply to Kent’s texts, but he always picks up the phone when he calls.

Kent stops outside of an empty stall, pushes his hands through his hair. He’s worried now, a sharp tug in his stomach that refuses to go away. Kent swallows, his mouth suddenly dry and heads down the hall to the feed room.

Years later, Kent would imagine that he’d never flicked the light on, that by somehow refusing to look at Jack in the dingy, sputtering glow from the lightbulb none of what came after would have happened. That maybe, if he’d left the light on, Jack would have still been breathing, would have still been staring at the pills contemplatively and Kent would have had time to rush in and knock them aside and pull Jack far, far away from everything. But in this universe, he doesn’t. 

Sometimes when Kent fucks up, he doesn’t take it all in at once. It’s like when he was in the third grade and the pony he was on refused a jump and Kent didn’t stop, just kept moving and ended up in a heap on the other side of the fence. He didn’t even realize he’d fallen for a second, just that the ground was hard and that this wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He didn’t even realize his arm was broken until the next day, when he couldn’t move his hand without crying out in pain. Finding Jack in the feed room is like that: the hurt doesn’t come until much, much later.

Kent’s first thought when the lights flicker on is that Jack shouldn’t be laying on the ground because he’s going to get dirt on his white breeches. His next thought is that Jack’s anxiety medication is next to him, and that that shouldn’t be there either. Then he realizes that Jack’s chest isn’t moving, and that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

He crumples to his knees and shakes Jack, curled on his side on the dirt floor. Later, he’ll sort through his feelings and recognize the panic and terror that had consumed him, but as it’s happening he feels numb, detached. His hands are shaking when he calls 911 and he’s crying, tears slipping molten hot down his cheeks. He’s still shaking Jack’s shoulder, trying to convince himself that he’s alive because he has to be fucking alive when the ambulance comes, and an EMT is pulling him away from Jack’s body and explaining that Kent can’t ride in the ambulance because he’s not family and he realizes, dimly, that he’s shaking, whole body tremors that he can’t control or stop no matter how hard he tries.

The ambulance pulls away, Bob and Alicia close behind and Kent’s alone in an empty room, surrounded by bales of hay and bags of feed. He clenches and unclenches his fists, digging his nails into the palms of his hands so he feels - something, even if it’s pain - then turns and walks back to Val’s stall. Kent has to go win his show. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor trigger warning - jack overdoses on his anxiety meds in the very last section of this fic and kent finds him. it's pretty vague imo but just in case!

**Author's Note:**

> also if anyone wants the playlist i listened to basically on repeat for this - [here you go!](https://open.spotify.com/user/sydneysnow6/playlist/0HdnO7HhipKKZmCVJQYSUB)


End file.
